Reasons why I love my job:
1) four hours of driving to do 45 minutes of work and getting paid for it all
2) little baby computers which we use for data entry which allow me to sit with my feet up while completing said data entry
3) Fridays are either short or non-existent
Today, A List in Parts
- Somehow found self in half-awake state
- Continued dreaming about racing out of a van towards a guy with cupcakes for probably 2 minutes as my phone was ringing
- Achieved cupcake goal and realized I should be getting up
- Turned off phone alarm
- saw that computer was not charging
- took twenty minutes figuring that problem out
- raced around the house:
~finding clothes
~making lunch/breakfast
~finding shoes
~filling water bottles - forgot breakfast on counter as I ran out the door with my mom who was taking me to work
- get to work and begin massive amounts of data entry
- finished data entry
*meanwhile, my coworker and my boss were managing to mess up like three pages of code while trying to fix something/figure it out* - realized co-worker/boss have delete about 1.5 hours of work somehow
- re-entered that data in about an hour while encouraging boss and co-worker to not play with the code anymore
- spend majority of afternoon fighting with code until it worked
- realized there was still missing data
- made co-worker enter data while I finished fixing the code
- ran the code
- it worked!
- produced desired output file
- made file very pretty
- showed it to boss man
- he was ver impressed
- got to take a 20 minute break and then leave five minutes early due to impressive code-fighting skills
- waited for sister to pick me up
- went home
- Tumbl’d
and here we are
I might add to this list if other exciting things happen :P
Time to study some stats and then have a nap and then cry a little bit.
I am going to bury my head in the sand now!
SO MANY THINGS TO DO AND NOT ENOUGH TIME!
On top of all that, I have a flu/cold thing to combat with! GAH!
Oh well, onward to productive things. Have a good one, guys!
I am a disastrous mess!
(I hurt my foot/ankle — again—)
In other news:
- I have linear algebra due on Friday and can’t seem to figure out Eigen values so if any of you wanna help me out, please go for it :P
- I am trying to differentiate xsinx (for Calc) and it is giving me more work than my entire degree is worth
- I’m going to watch American Idol later (though I’m not sure I want to watch anyone besides Scotty)
- I’m in LOVE with the song “Are You Gonna Kiss Me Or Not” by Thompson Square
I am going to wrap/ice my foot now
~Elizabeth~
Behind every player there’s a girl who broke his heart
I found this on the internet today … I’m still debating how I feel about it as a quote :P
Kind of reminds me of “behind every beautiful girl there is a guy who did her wrong and made her strong” which has been floating all over the internet for years… I’m baffled, my mind is broken. Thoughts?
I’ve been living under a rock! I’m sorry! I should be back on Wednesday :D
Why can’t guys just understand that the biggest turn off to the majority of “good” girls is his chasing after another girl? That would save him so much trouble to know.
I didn’t write anything today
but I did do some Linear Algebra so it wasn’t a total waste.
Do you have to be crazy to be a good writer?
Can you ever truly write something you do not know?
Is there any way a person with little life experience can EVER write something interesting?
All of these questions have seriously been getting be down lately. It is difficult for me to keep writing sometimes because I feel like it has to be perfect or it doesn’t matter.
More than that, though, I feel like I have no potential of getting anywhere because those things I just mentioned are holding me back.
I will keep trying and I will keep writing, I just wanted to let you all know.
Was I hiding? I do not remember where I am and I don’t know how I got here. I wonder why it is dark and why I cannot feel my right leg below the knee. I cannot see and I cannot hear and I cannot smell. My senses are completely cut off and I wonder if I am dead. I wonder what has brought me here and I wonder why it isn’t better… dying is supposed to be light, isn’t it? It’s supposed to be freeing… right? I thought life was difficult but I’m not sure any more, I thought my friends weren’t really my friends, but now I wonder if I’m right.
As I sit here contemplating my life… or is it my death? I think about my mother… and my father… and my brother. I wonder how they feel without me and the pain comes flooding in - I will never see them again… I am dying and I don’t even remember what happened, I’m sure of it. Don’t tell anyone I told you this, but I’m terrified and I’m lonely and I feel weak. I wonder why I am hanging so long in this black abyss when suddenly I hear a sound… is it a crunching? Was my momma right about Heaven? Was she right about Hell? I guess this is it, I smell something burning now… I’m hoping it’s just Daddy’s attempts at cooking instead of something worse and then I see a light.
This really is it, I see the light and I want to walk towards it but I can’t - suddenly I can feel my leg again and it hurts - a lot. I am trying to get to the light when I hear another sound - a crunching and a ripping and a crushing and then there is a flood of light so great I must close my eyes.
I lay there still.
I dare not move.
and then I hear it, the fragile beating of my heart.
MY heart
I am alive, that means…
Or is this what they do to you in Hell… I wasn’t sure I believed in Hell but now that I’m here, I’m not sure I was right about the nothing I expected…
I slowly open my eyes as I hear a man call out one word: Jenna. My name. He sounds so far away. I try to reach out to him and I try to call out but nothing is working.
The pain in my leg grows stronger.
The beat of my heart remains steadily thumping in my ears.
Then - as if I had just disturbed a hornet’s nest, a flurry of activity began around me. I was being pulled and dragged and poked and prodded and yet I could not move. Once more the light began to fade into the darkness and all I could hear was the timid “thump thump” of my heart before the world went black and empty once more.
…
…
…
…
I awake with a start. I look around my newly painted - blue - room toward my daughter, Lily. She is crying so I pick her up and set her down on the floor with some blocks to entertain her as I find her bottle and check on her brother, Timmy, who is three and usually sleeps through the night but has lately been waking up with Lily - it’s like sympathy pains, or something.
As I walk down the stairs between Timmy’s room and the kitchen, I hear the humm of the refrigerator and the beating of my heart in the silence only this time I also hear the shuffling of my feet on the hardwood floor. It is reassuring - not a day goes by I don’t remember that day - seven years, three months, and five days ago - when my parents’ house caught fire and I was trapped beneath a beam, dying. More than that, I will never forget the man who pulled me out to safety.
You’re probably waiting for me to say that man is now my husband … I’m afraid I’m going to have to disappoint you. That man is my father - he finally made me believe I was worth it and I will be forever grateful for that day - he gave me back my life.
The silence ticks on, my heartbeat masking the ticking of the clock; my heartbeat marking the seconds of my new life - here, in this place.
Once upon a time I was hiding: I can’t remember why.
Write one leaf in which you are discovered.
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Source: writeoneleaf
How am I supposed to write something which goes on for pages and pages and has no answers, only questions? Is it possible to be coherent while doing that? Do I want to be coherent? Where do I want this to go and how rambling will it become? Am I going to have to start talking about pink nail polish and yellow shirts? Will you even read past the first sentence of this mish mash? Is this attempt to thrill you going to end in disaster? Or will someone maybe be inspired to write me the answers? Is there a significance in a piece of writing which is all questions and no answers? Is there more than one way to write it? Does it mean every sentence must be a question, or does it mean the themes must be questions which are left unanswered?
…
Is this world a good place to be? Is one country greater than another? How do we know? By what do we judge? Is it acceptable to pit your country against another in order to determine which is “best” in some way? Is this the underlying reason for wars? Are wars inherently bad? Is it, instead, just an extension of humanity and its desire for dominance and superiority? Are we to understand this at all? Ever? Is there anyway to stop it or should we just accept it as fact and let it be?
Is education really educating us? Are we allowed to learn or expected to regurgitate? Is there room for exploration any more? Is exploration even a good thing? If I am educated without exploration what does that say about me and my potential for change? If you are educated with the ability to explore, what does that say about your ability to accept things as they are? Which is better: to accept things as they are or to desire change? If a desire for change is better, what is the purpose of that desire without the ability to act? If we must act, must we be taught how? If we must be taught how, who will teach us? If we do not require teaching in order to act, why must we be educated to know?
Where is the barrier, really, between acting and knowing? What good, also, is there in one without the other? Is it possible to act without knowing? If one can act without knowing can one know without acting? Can one know without knowing he knows? Is there a way to truly test what one knows? Is there a way to truly measure intelligence? If one can measure intelligence, what bearing does it really have on a person’s life? If you are more intelligent than me, what does that mean? Does it mean you will get a better job? Have a bigger house? Drive a nicer car? Do these things matter? Does being more intelligent mean a better life for your children? Does it mean that my children will not grow up to be good people?
What is a good person, anyway? Is a good person to be defined by her actions or his words? Are both to be incorporated? How do you measure the goodness of a woman or man? If he never shows his goodness, does that make him less good? If she acts vicious but has a good heart, does that make her less good? What makes a person good? Why do we strive for this goodness which cannot be attained? Or can it be attained and we have just been incapable thus far? What does that imply about humanity? If we are technically capable of something which we never achieve, can we say we were capable?
Is it hypocritical to say we are capable of something which, in all actuality, we cannot do? Or is it optimistic? Is optimism to be desired? Why does what we think really matter? What is, is what is, right? Or is it? If a tree falls in the forest and no one’s there to hear it, does it make a sound? More so, if a tree falls in the forest and no one is there to see it, does it really fall? Does it really matter? If the world carries on without us, do we really matter? If we don’t matter, does anything else matter? If it does matter, does that mean we matter? If we matter, is the world around us relevant?
…
Is the world a good place to be? …
Write one leaf that is all questions and no answers.
· Featured Leaf: Stone’s Throw via http://potterspoet.com.
pages about + ask + random | sponsors You Are a Dog + We Are the Cat
Source: writeoneleaf
Mary Wollstonecraft: A Vindication of the Rights of Woman
I love “betterbooktitles” :)
Source: betterbooktitles
