His eyes upon your face... His hand upon your hand... His lips caress your skin....
Note: This entry was supposed to happen a couple of nights ago, but, after inexplicably blowing a fuse, I was too pissed at Livejournal to do retype it. However, I just recently discovered that at some point Marcelo had copied and pasted the entry into Word and forgot to tell me, so, thankfully, here it is!
Well friends, after receiving an official "Livejournal Nudge" by miss Nicole, I decided I should probably finally at least attempt to make time to update this thing!
I'm not making any promises about this entry, though...
So, I've been rather busy these last couple of weeks, mostly with school. My schedule this quarter, incase you're interested, is as follows:
M/W/F:
Introduction to Sociology - 10:50 - 11:50
Child Psychology - 12:00 - 1:00
T/Th:
Theories of Learning and Cognition - 10:10 - 11:40
Introduction to Biology - 1:30 - 3:00
Classes have been going surprisingly well so far. I have taken exams in both of my Intro classes as well as my midterm in Child Psychology just today. I'm doing very very well in Biology, with a 92.5% on my last exam when the class average was somewhere around a 76%. Considering that I got a D in Biology in highschool, I would say I am definitely improving. I think it's because I love my professor though - Dr.Rajah. She's such a great lady, and I'm really getting sick and tired of people treating her like shit because they've lost too many brain cells from drinking to comprehend what she's teaching, so they take it out on HER. She is a DOCTOR of Biology!! - I'm pretty sure she knows what she's talking about. *Sigh* But anyway... My other classes are going well also, especially the two psychology classes, which I find extremely interesting, and the fact that I have good professors doesn't hurt either. I'm not sure about my current status in Sociology, though, because I'm paying a shitload of money for my education, and I'm not getting anything at all out of the class. I'm considering dropping it, especially after some encouraging words from a graduate student in one of my classes. I mean, honestly, tuition at DePaul is $20,000 per year - I think I have a right to drop a class that I'm not getting anything out of. That's why it's called higher education. If I wanted to repeat highschool, I would, and frankly, my highschool was a hell of a lot better than this class is. So I think I just made my decision :D
Something else to help my decision is the fact that I received a letter in the mail a couple of days ago saying that I made the Dean's list last quarter, and I thought that was pretty awesome. I've been so worried about not doing well enough in college, considering that I'm always seeming to drop a class here or there, but I guess I should stop putting so much pressure on myself. And this quarter, both Theories of Learning & Cognition and Child Psychology are *Gasp* 300-level classes!! They are PSY360 and PSY333, respectively. And I know if Steve or Alison came across this, they would be very proud(?) because they like to emphasize the levels of the courses they're taking. But, of course, a 300-level course at DePaul is probably like a day care program compared to theirs....
Anywho, in other school-related news, last week on Wednesday I finally got around to joining the DePaul Voices for the Animals club (AKA DVA). I convinced Marissa to come along with me, and unfortunately the two of us spent quite some time wandering around the third floor of the Student Center trying to figure out exactly where the group was supposed to meet. I finally asked someone if they knew where to meet, and luckily it was the right person. That girl I spoke to was Natalie, who is a co-coordinator of DVA. She's such a nice girl, I really like her, and I hope that through DVA we can get to be better friends. So the group goes to Animal Care and Control every Wednesday from 2:00 - 5:00, and the only thing we do is walk the dogs - Not that I'm complaining. There are some absolutely wonderful dogs at the shelter, and it's a shame that there are people out there who think that just because a dog is in a shelter that there's "something wrong with it". That is NOT true. There is something wrong with the people who bred the dog and/or the people that previously owned the dog. So please, if anyone out there is considering getting a dog and they don't care what kind of dog they get just as long as it's a good companion, let me know! I can recommend many of them!
This past Wednesday, though, DVA was a nightmare. The dogs were all being extremely rowdy, and normally that's fine, but between the first two or three dogs I took out, I ended up with serious leash-burn as well as a pulled back and a jammed pinky finger. It was craziness, and that means a lot coming from me, considering that my Mera is 96 pounds of muscle and she is insane on a leash, and I can handle her. These dogs were smaller, but my God were they strong! The saddest part is that those are the dogs that need to be worked with the most, but physically I couldn't do it. Marissa had an issue with one of the dogs she had out as well - a German Shepherd - It jumped up at her and hit her in the mouth. She was freaking out and crying and was convinced that one of her teeth was going to fall out (which of course it wasn't - It wasn't even bleeding!), and in the meantime her dog was trying to attack the dog that Marcelo was walking. The dogs are not allowed to be within that close of a proximity whatsoever, but she just didn't really seem to care about that. So after struggling to get the dogs apart, Marissa headed off to the bathroom for 15 minutes (plus another 10 during which I tried my damnedest to convince her that no, her tooth would NOT fall out), and after that we all headed home. So, yes, though it is much fun, it seems that there is always some sort of drama no matter where I go....
In other news, um, let's see... My credit card is on fire. Mmhmm, that's right, it's currently up in flames. In the last two weeks I have gotten two $30 haircuts (because the first one the girl decided to fuck up completely... Even Dana, my regular stylist, agreed, and they're friends...), and I've bought $300 worth of clothes, and I've spent God-knows-what on Ewan's medical bills. The first of these bills was incurred when I took Ewan to the vet because he was urinating much more frequently than usual. It turns out that not only did he have a urinary tract infection, but he is also prone to getting crystals in his urine because his urine isn't acidic like it should be, and that's something he's born with. My vet suggested that I get in contact with his breeder and let her know about this, because she sold him to me this way, and that's not what the contract stated should have happened. So now the poor little guy is on antibiotics for three weeks and also needs 500mg of Vitamin C every day, which isn't a problem, because we have the big chewable tablets in the house for ourselves anyway. The second bill was incurred at an eye specialist that I took Ewan to the next day to see if the coloboma in his eye which I knew he had would eventually cause him serious problems or not because I had been hearing mixed things about that issue. Luckily the opthamologist said that his kind of coloboma isn't a dangerous one, because 1) It's not coupled with any other sort of eye disease, and 2) His type of coloboma is only on the iris, which in his case does constrict enough to not allow abnormal amounts of sunlight in. So that was definitely good news. I hope he's getting all of his medical problems out of the way now while he's young, and then there'll be no more. Keep your fingers crossed for him!
He's doing great in every other facet of life, though, and for that I'm thankful. This coming Tuesday is his last week of Puppy Kindergarten, and I'm very pleased to announce that even at his young age, not even 4 months old, he is being promoted to Advanced Beginners. He'll be at a slight disadvantage because the other dogs are older, but our instructors feel that he's definitely ready for it. It's still ultimately my decision, though, and I'm still thinking about it. But either way, he's progressing well. He weighs about 20 pounds now and is big enough to jump on the furniture all by himself :D I'm so proud of my little baby! He's growing up so fast! *Tear*... He really is the joy in my life. Everybody should go out and get a puppy!! GO!! NOW!!
I'll leave you all with this: I have started writing the story of my life, a project that I have always aspired to not only start but hopefully someday manage to finish. But there is nothing in it that isn't the absolute truth from my point of view. So, I would love it if you guys would check out what I have so far (which is like, 2 pages of moslty introduction) and let me know what you think. There's nothing in it at this point that anyone needs to be concerned with, but I'll forewarn you that things included in that story WILL at some point offend you, I'm sure. So, I hope you all enjoy!! I promise I won't go this long without updating again, either! Love you all, and g'nite!
This is, put simply, a testament to my own existence. I have never aspired to be anything more than comfortable, and I know now that in this life, if you don’t do something that has an impact on the world as a whole, or even a statistically significant percentage of any given population, when you die you will live on only in the memories of those who were close to you. The problem with this is that you will only live on as a mental representation of who you actually were. People will only know what you let them know, and will only see what you let them see, and in trying to portray oneself in Light X or Light Y, a person’s humanity is, the way I see it, somehow tarnished. This is a testament, then, I suppose, to more than just my existence - It is a testament to my humanity. As I said I have never wanted to do anything with my life other than to live it in a way that is most contenting to me, and above all I have vowed to never let anyone else force me into doing something that the whole of me does not want to do. However, I am currently finding that my writing is exempt to this promise I’ve made myself, because in the following pages I will do something that I have never done, nor have I wanted to do, in the past - In the following pages will be everything that has ever meant anything to me as a person whatsoever. I am stepping out of my comfort zone to bring to these pages the raw truth about everything that I have experienced to date, even when that truth makes me sweat, feel sick to my stomach, get angry, or shed tears. This is my truth, the way that things happened as I experienced them. While most, if not all,things here are as factually accurate as I can make them, more of what matters is how I interpreted those things, how I saw them, and how they impacted me.
I guess I’m not really sure if this is being written with the intention of others reading it, and in my perfect reality being absolutely enchanted with it, and finding it - and in turn, me - to be the most intriguing individual they’ve ever encountered in their lifetime, or if I am writing this for myself. There are few things I enjoy more than recounting my past, and a large part of what satisfies me about doing so is my dream that someone will genuinely care about me and what has happened in my life, lackluster though it has been in comparison to some. The other reason for this being so enjoyable to me is that it reminds me that I’m alive. Remembering that I have a past makes me aware of the fact that someday this present that I am currently living in will also become part of that past. It begs the question - What will I do today that will be worth writing about tomorrow? The answer to this, of course, is subjective. If you are expecting an epic tale of struggles or grandiose exaggerations about the events in my life, please discontinue your reading at this point. My life has been admittedly rather placid in terms of anything that would constitute good literature. But this is not intended to be good literature. In fact, much to my own chagrin, I’m not even sure whose voice I’m writing in. I don’t want to admit that it might possibly be mine, because I hold myself to extremely high standards in terms of my literary abilities. In this mere three-quarters of a page I have already been sloppy, unoriginal, and redundant. Those are all signs of my present uneasiness about what I’m about to embark on - And that is how I know I am ready.
Logically the easiest way to go about this is in a chronological fashion, and while I would love to be more creative as far as the structure of this thing, I suppose it’s true that when confronted with a new situation, one reverts back to what is easiest and most basic. Nonetheless, the beginning really is a good place to start. To acknowledge what I would consider pleasantries, I was born Lauren Marie McCune at Michael Reese Hospital in Chicago, Illinois on May 3, 1986. I was five days late, and weighed in at 7 pounds, 7 ounces. I was, to my knowledge, a completely average baby, free of medical complications - Aside from what would have been an eleventh digit on my left hand, next to my pinky finger. That was removed when I was three days old, the same day that a news crew came to the hospital and interviewed my mother and my newborn self about the new and improved Maternity Wing of Michael Reese. There is a tape of this news segment floating about my house somewhere, but in the last 19 years, we have been yet to find it, or, for that matter, look for it.
I lived with my parents and grandparents on my father’s side in what I remember as an average-sized house in West Chicago, Illinois, on a street called Mellow Lane. While I swear that despite what modern developmental psychology dictates I have memories from before I was five years old, such as being at Seaworld in Florida with my grandmother and being terrified when Shamu jumped from underneath the surface of the water, the significant experiences that I’ve taken with me from West Chicago all occurred after the age of four. It was made glaringly obvious to me at a very early age that I was different, or, rather, better, than all of the other children in my neighborhood. I could speak before I was a year old, and I could read before I was three years old. I had exceptional intelligence for a little girl of my age and genetic history (half of my family was from the mountains of West Virginia, the other half was, a couple of generations prior, from Sicily, and neither of them had ever seen a family member make it beyond highschool, if even that), and I was continually encouraged in that. Even from that very young age I was appreciative of my brain and all of the wonderful things it brought me - The most treasured of which was my endless imagination.
Of course I am aware that all young children have vast imaginations, often getting them into trouble and losing respect from adults - At the very least having the adults no longer take them seriously. But mine, mine was different, at least to me it was. It was a source of power for me, a source of control. When I played with my friends, I created the games and they played along in accordance of the characters that I had created. I don’t know if something traumatic happened to me before I can remember that made me feel out of control of my own life, nor do I know if a child at the age of four or five is even capable of feeling out of control of their life, considering that at that age, most of their life truly is out of their own control, almost completely in the control of their parents. But from my earliest memories, I have always enjoyed having power and influence over the people in my life. This need for power has never manifested itself in other regions of my life, like career choice, because I’ve never wanted to be a politician or any other stereotypically influential figure, but it lords over my interpersonal relationships.
Well friends, after receiving an official "Livejournal Nudge" by miss Nicole, I decided I should probably finally at least attempt to make time to update this thing!
I'm not making any promises about this entry, though...
So, I've been rather busy these last couple of weeks, mostly with school. My schedule this quarter, incase you're interested, is as follows:
M/W/F:
Introduction to Sociology - 10:50 - 11:50
Child Psychology - 12:00 - 1:00
T/Th:
Theories of Learning and Cognition - 10:10 - 11:40
Introduction to Biology - 1:30 - 3:00
Classes have been going surprisingly well so far. I have taken exams in both of my Intro classes as well as my midterm in Child Psychology just today. I'm doing very very well in Biology, with a 92.5% on my last exam when the class average was somewhere around a 76%. Considering that I got a D in Biology in highschool, I would say I am definitely improving. I think it's because I love my professor though - Dr.Rajah. She's such a great lady, and I'm really getting sick and tired of people treating her like shit because they've lost too many brain cells from drinking to comprehend what she's teaching, so they take it out on HER. She is a DOCTOR of Biology!! - I'm pretty sure she knows what she's talking about. *Sigh* But anyway... My other classes are going well also, especially the two psychology classes, which I find extremely interesting, and the fact that I have good professors doesn't hurt either. I'm not sure about my current status in Sociology, though, because I'm paying a shitload of money for my education, and I'm not getting anything at all out of the class. I'm considering dropping it, especially after some encouraging words from a graduate student in one of my classes. I mean, honestly, tuition at DePaul is $20,000 per year - I think I have a right to drop a class that I'm not getting anything out of. That's why it's called higher education. If I wanted to repeat highschool, I would, and frankly, my highschool was a hell of a lot better than this class is. So I think I just made my decision :D
Something else to help my decision is the fact that I received a letter in the mail a couple of days ago saying that I made the Dean's list last quarter, and I thought that was pretty awesome. I've been so worried about not doing well enough in college, considering that I'm always seeming to drop a class here or there, but I guess I should stop putting so much pressure on myself. And this quarter, both Theories of Learning & Cognition and Child Psychology are *Gasp* 300-level classes!! They are PSY360 and PSY333, respectively. And I know if Steve or Alison came across this, they would be very proud(?) because they like to emphasize the levels of the courses they're taking. But, of course, a 300-level course at DePaul is probably like a day care program compared to theirs....
Anywho, in other school-related news, last week on Wednesday I finally got around to joining the DePaul Voices for the Animals club (AKA DVA). I convinced Marissa to come along with me, and unfortunately the two of us spent quite some time wandering around the third floor of the Student Center trying to figure out exactly where the group was supposed to meet. I finally asked someone if they knew where to meet, and luckily it was the right person. That girl I spoke to was Natalie, who is a co-coordinator of DVA. She's such a nice girl, I really like her, and I hope that through DVA we can get to be better friends. So the group goes to Animal Care and Control every Wednesday from 2:00 - 5:00, and the only thing we do is walk the dogs - Not that I'm complaining. There are some absolutely wonderful dogs at the shelter, and it's a shame that there are people out there who think that just because a dog is in a shelter that there's "something wrong with it". That is NOT true. There is something wrong with the people who bred the dog and/or the people that previously owned the dog. So please, if anyone out there is considering getting a dog and they don't care what kind of dog they get just as long as it's a good companion, let me know! I can recommend many of them!
This past Wednesday, though, DVA was a nightmare. The dogs were all being extremely rowdy, and normally that's fine, but between the first two or three dogs I took out, I ended up with serious leash-burn as well as a pulled back and a jammed pinky finger. It was craziness, and that means a lot coming from me, considering that my Mera is 96 pounds of muscle and she is insane on a leash, and I can handle her. These dogs were smaller, but my God were they strong! The saddest part is that those are the dogs that need to be worked with the most, but physically I couldn't do it. Marissa had an issue with one of the dogs she had out as well - a German Shepherd - It jumped up at her and hit her in the mouth. She was freaking out and crying and was convinced that one of her teeth was going to fall out (which of course it wasn't - It wasn't even bleeding!), and in the meantime her dog was trying to attack the dog that Marcelo was walking. The dogs are not allowed to be within that close of a proximity whatsoever, but she just didn't really seem to care about that. So after struggling to get the dogs apart, Marissa headed off to the bathroom for 15 minutes (plus another 10 during which I tried my damnedest to convince her that no, her tooth would NOT fall out), and after that we all headed home. So, yes, though it is much fun, it seems that there is always some sort of drama no matter where I go....
In other news, um, let's see... My credit card is on fire. Mmhmm, that's right, it's currently up in flames. In the last two weeks I have gotten two $30 haircuts (because the first one the girl decided to fuck up completely... Even Dana, my regular stylist, agreed, and they're friends...), and I've bought $300 worth of clothes, and I've spent God-knows-what on Ewan's medical bills. The first of these bills was incurred when I took Ewan to the vet because he was urinating much more frequently than usual. It turns out that not only did he have a urinary tract infection, but he is also prone to getting crystals in his urine because his urine isn't acidic like it should be, and that's something he's born with. My vet suggested that I get in contact with his breeder and let her know about this, because she sold him to me this way, and that's not what the contract stated should have happened. So now the poor little guy is on antibiotics for three weeks and also needs 500mg of Vitamin C every day, which isn't a problem, because we have the big chewable tablets in the house for ourselves anyway. The second bill was incurred at an eye specialist that I took Ewan to the next day to see if the coloboma in his eye which I knew he had would eventually cause him serious problems or not because I had been hearing mixed things about that issue. Luckily the opthamologist said that his kind of coloboma isn't a dangerous one, because 1) It's not coupled with any other sort of eye disease, and 2) His type of coloboma is only on the iris, which in his case does constrict enough to not allow abnormal amounts of sunlight in. So that was definitely good news. I hope he's getting all of his medical problems out of the way now while he's young, and then there'll be no more. Keep your fingers crossed for him!
He's doing great in every other facet of life, though, and for that I'm thankful. This coming Tuesday is his last week of Puppy Kindergarten, and I'm very pleased to announce that even at his young age, not even 4 months old, he is being promoted to Advanced Beginners. He'll be at a slight disadvantage because the other dogs are older, but our instructors feel that he's definitely ready for it. It's still ultimately my decision, though, and I'm still thinking about it. But either way, he's progressing well. He weighs about 20 pounds now and is big enough to jump on the furniture all by himself :D I'm so proud of my little baby! He's growing up so fast! *Tear*... He really is the joy in my life. Everybody should go out and get a puppy!! GO!! NOW!!
I'll leave you all with this: I have started writing the story of my life, a project that I have always aspired to not only start but hopefully someday manage to finish. But there is nothing in it that isn't the absolute truth from my point of view. So, I would love it if you guys would check out what I have so far (which is like, 2 pages of moslty introduction) and let me know what you think. There's nothing in it at this point that anyone needs to be concerned with, but I'll forewarn you that things included in that story WILL at some point offend you, I'm sure. So, I hope you all enjoy!! I promise I won't go this long without updating again, either! Love you all, and g'nite!
This is, put simply, a testament to my own existence. I have never aspired to be anything more than comfortable, and I know now that in this life, if you don’t do something that has an impact on the world as a whole, or even a statistically significant percentage of any given population, when you die you will live on only in the memories of those who were close to you. The problem with this is that you will only live on as a mental representation of who you actually were. People will only know what you let them know, and will only see what you let them see, and in trying to portray oneself in Light X or Light Y, a person’s humanity is, the way I see it, somehow tarnished. This is a testament, then, I suppose, to more than just my existence - It is a testament to my humanity. As I said I have never wanted to do anything with my life other than to live it in a way that is most contenting to me, and above all I have vowed to never let anyone else force me into doing something that the whole of me does not want to do. However, I am currently finding that my writing is exempt to this promise I’ve made myself, because in the following pages I will do something that I have never done, nor have I wanted to do, in the past - In the following pages will be everything that has ever meant anything to me as a person whatsoever. I am stepping out of my comfort zone to bring to these pages the raw truth about everything that I have experienced to date, even when that truth makes me sweat, feel sick to my stomach, get angry, or shed tears. This is my truth, the way that things happened as I experienced them. While most, if not all,things here are as factually accurate as I can make them, more of what matters is how I interpreted those things, how I saw them, and how they impacted me.
I guess I’m not really sure if this is being written with the intention of others reading it, and in my perfect reality being absolutely enchanted with it, and finding it - and in turn, me - to be the most intriguing individual they’ve ever encountered in their lifetime, or if I am writing this for myself. There are few things I enjoy more than recounting my past, and a large part of what satisfies me about doing so is my dream that someone will genuinely care about me and what has happened in my life, lackluster though it has been in comparison to some. The other reason for this being so enjoyable to me is that it reminds me that I’m alive. Remembering that I have a past makes me aware of the fact that someday this present that I am currently living in will also become part of that past. It begs the question - What will I do today that will be worth writing about tomorrow? The answer to this, of course, is subjective. If you are expecting an epic tale of struggles or grandiose exaggerations about the events in my life, please discontinue your reading at this point. My life has been admittedly rather placid in terms of anything that would constitute good literature. But this is not intended to be good literature. In fact, much to my own chagrin, I’m not even sure whose voice I’m writing in. I don’t want to admit that it might possibly be mine, because I hold myself to extremely high standards in terms of my literary abilities. In this mere three-quarters of a page I have already been sloppy, unoriginal, and redundant. Those are all signs of my present uneasiness about what I’m about to embark on - And that is how I know I am ready.
Logically the easiest way to go about this is in a chronological fashion, and while I would love to be more creative as far as the structure of this thing, I suppose it’s true that when confronted with a new situation, one reverts back to what is easiest and most basic. Nonetheless, the beginning really is a good place to start. To acknowledge what I would consider pleasantries, I was born Lauren Marie McCune at Michael Reese Hospital in Chicago, Illinois on May 3, 1986. I was five days late, and weighed in at 7 pounds, 7 ounces. I was, to my knowledge, a completely average baby, free of medical complications - Aside from what would have been an eleventh digit on my left hand, next to my pinky finger. That was removed when I was three days old, the same day that a news crew came to the hospital and interviewed my mother and my newborn self about the new and improved Maternity Wing of Michael Reese. There is a tape of this news segment floating about my house somewhere, but in the last 19 years, we have been yet to find it, or, for that matter, look for it.
I lived with my parents and grandparents on my father’s side in what I remember as an average-sized house in West Chicago, Illinois, on a street called Mellow Lane. While I swear that despite what modern developmental psychology dictates I have memories from before I was five years old, such as being at Seaworld in Florida with my grandmother and being terrified when Shamu jumped from underneath the surface of the water, the significant experiences that I’ve taken with me from West Chicago all occurred after the age of four. It was made glaringly obvious to me at a very early age that I was different, or, rather, better, than all of the other children in my neighborhood. I could speak before I was a year old, and I could read before I was three years old. I had exceptional intelligence for a little girl of my age and genetic history (half of my family was from the mountains of West Virginia, the other half was, a couple of generations prior, from Sicily, and neither of them had ever seen a family member make it beyond highschool, if even that), and I was continually encouraged in that. Even from that very young age I was appreciative of my brain and all of the wonderful things it brought me - The most treasured of which was my endless imagination.
Of course I am aware that all young children have vast imaginations, often getting them into trouble and losing respect from adults - At the very least having the adults no longer take them seriously. But mine, mine was different, at least to me it was. It was a source of power for me, a source of control. When I played with my friends, I created the games and they played along in accordance of the characters that I had created. I don’t know if something traumatic happened to me before I can remember that made me feel out of control of my own life, nor do I know if a child at the age of four or five is even capable of feeling out of control of their life, considering that at that age, most of their life truly is out of their own control, almost completely in the control of their parents. But from my earliest memories, I have always enjoyed having power and influence over the people in my life. This need for power has never manifested itself in other regions of my life, like career choice, because I’ve never wanted to be a politician or any other stereotypically influential figure, but it lords over my interpersonal relationships.