News, a review, and thoughts
Well, I suppose the icon is very appropriate in some ways. I didn't get accepted into the UNT counseling program -- again. This time, I'm not as devastated. Actually, after my initial crying spell -- which I blame on my cat Mina meowing the moment after I finished the letter -- I was more angry than hurt. I pretty much reverted to a philosophy I followed as a child: "If they don't want me, fuck 'em. It's their own damn loss." I still follow it now but it's like my religion, I believe/follow it, just more loosely. So, I went looking at other programs in the area. Another university in my town offers nearly the exact same program, barring one class that I can still take at UNT. So I'm applying there. It may actually be a better fit, who knows. All I do, is that I have to find a full time job within one year of finishing this semester since I lose eligibility to work for a student job. Hopefully, my boss will realize he can't live without me and offer me a full time job being his assistant. I'd like that.
Another thing I like is the movie "How to Train Your Dragon". It was surprisingly good. Not just the story, but the animation as well. I'm not a body hair kind of girl, but I was impressed seeing all the hair on the viking men. All of the adult characters had Scottish/British accents, but I can't fault them. It works. I don't want to spoil anything, but if you like dragons and the thrill of flying, go see it. I haven't seen it in 3D, but the normal movie version was very good. Brought a tear to my eye near the end too.
This was definitely a crying weekend this weekend. I really hope I don't cry on Sunday, I have to read a lot of homework. Beyond that, I'm helping my mom compile photos for a slideshow we want to play at my grandparents' 50th anniversary. I have about 200 photos to scan in beyond the gigs of digital photos we've taken over the years. What is touching about the photographs I have to scan in is that they are photos of my grandparents when they were young. It was humbling seeing my youngest brother's face on my grandfather. My grandmother's habit of always going bare foot existed as far back as their marriage. I got to see my great grandfathers on both sides, men I never knew except in stories. They were young, not the old men I see when I look at my grandparents' walls. My 90 year old great grandmother was holding my uncle, her youngest of 13 children, as a baby at my grandmother's wedding. Growing up, my grandparents didn't tell me much about my family history because they wanted me to be more than poor, uneducated farmers and laborers. Here I am, 2.5 months away from 23 with a bachelors and trying my hardest to get into graduate school. I've been dirt poor with my family living in a friend's back room, and I've owned things my grandparents never would have dreamed of. And yet, I've never been more proud of them and what they taught me throughout my life. I'm proud to be the product of Irish stubbornness and Cherokee determination.
It's late. And my boyfriend is snoring on the floor. I better get him off of it or he'll regret it in the morning.
Another thing I like is the movie "How to Train Your Dragon". It was surprisingly good. Not just the story, but the animation as well. I'm not a body hair kind of girl, but I was impressed seeing all the hair on the viking men. All of the adult characters had Scottish/British accents, but I can't fault them. It works. I don't want to spoil anything, but if you like dragons and the thrill of flying, go see it. I haven't seen it in 3D, but the normal movie version was very good. Brought a tear to my eye near the end too.
This was definitely a crying weekend this weekend. I really hope I don't cry on Sunday, I have to read a lot of homework. Beyond that, I'm helping my mom compile photos for a slideshow we want to play at my grandparents' 50th anniversary. I have about 200 photos to scan in beyond the gigs of digital photos we've taken over the years. What is touching about the photographs I have to scan in is that they are photos of my grandparents when they were young. It was humbling seeing my youngest brother's face on my grandfather. My grandmother's habit of always going bare foot existed as far back as their marriage. I got to see my great grandfathers on both sides, men I never knew except in stories. They were young, not the old men I see when I look at my grandparents' walls. My 90 year old great grandmother was holding my uncle, her youngest of 13 children, as a baby at my grandmother's wedding. Growing up, my grandparents didn't tell me much about my family history because they wanted me to be more than poor, uneducated farmers and laborers. Here I am, 2.5 months away from 23 with a bachelors and trying my hardest to get into graduate school. I've been dirt poor with my family living in a friend's back room, and I've owned things my grandparents never would have dreamed of. And yet, I've never been more proud of them and what they taught me throughout my life. I'm proud to be the product of Irish stubbornness and Cherokee determination.
It's late. And my boyfriend is snoring on the floor. I better get him off of it or he'll regret it in the morning.