Exciting News!

As a warning I will be posting this on both Life of a Book Addict and Writing is Life for those of you who meander between both of my blogs.  I have some very exciting news though!  Starting the 21st and possibly for a few days after, I shall be moving!  Not cities or anything big like that.  Just apartments, but I am very excited for it.  It'll be a better living condition, a better neighborhood, more space.  And honestly, it's the little things I'm excited for.

• Having a in-complex laundry mat.
• Having a swimming pool (alright, not so little, especially in this drought)
• Having more than one set of house keys.
• Having an oven I don't think will short-circuit and burn my living space down.
• Having a fire alarm that works.

See, the little things boys and girls that make life worth living.  And the fact it is a lot closer to my job, also makes things really awesome.  Speaking of, I have to buy a bike.  Anyone know of any cheap ones that function?  I'm going to be looking around, of course, but i I figure, it never hurts to ask around.  Especially since I've been told that getting a steady ride to work means promotion opportunities.  Exciting and terrifying at the same time!

Oops

I am so terribly sorry boys and girls.  I have not done an update in a little while now.  What?  Two weeks?  I think, I'm not really sure, I lost count so it might have been that long or it might have been less.  Who's to say.  Anyway, I will try not to take up too much of your time.  I was just thinking about how proud of myself I am.  I know, I'm sitting here with an update to toot my own horn.  Shame, shame woman.

But, that's not the point.  I have trouble sticking to things.  Sometimes I forget.  Or I put them off.  Or I get busy.  Whatever the excuse, it's very easy for me to get distracted and simply let things slide.  But in this case, I am proud to say that I have been doing at least one review a week for the past six weeks.  It's progress.  A start.  One that I am very much hoping that I can continue and build on.  Sure, most people probably don't really take the time to look at this or read what I'm writing, but that's okay.

In a way, I'm not doing any of this for you guys.  Which really isn't nice to say, I'm sorry guys, but let's face it, I'm not.  If anyone even reads this blog, they never comment.  I have had one comment since starting it and I'd like to think I have some very solid things I've written and some legitimate questions that I have posed.  But it is okay.  I know not everyone will want to take the time.  I'm thrilled anyone even vitryws my blog.

But it's kind of clear that I'm not doing this for the attention.  I'm doing this for myself.  I'm doing this to focus my mind.  To try and create something.  And I think that I'm managing it very nice.  Let's just hope that I can keep it up.

And so no one can say that I forgot!

Suppose Supposing

I admit, I though that I was going to have the review done earlier this week.  Given that said reviewed book was only about 250 pages and I was already a good hundred pages in, I really meant to have it done earlier in the week.  But c'est la vie.  Life has never really decided it wanted to cooperate that much.  That would be more of the wishful thinking aspect of life I believe.  That and I honestly was slacking a little in my reading because I knew that I could so easily finish it.  Oh well, there is really nothing to be done about the matter now and I can very proudly say that I have finished it and the that the review on Raising the Curve is up and ready to read for any of you who might find yourselves to be interested in it.

But my life is more than just reading.  Or it should be, though sometimes I think it would be nice if I could just focus on my reading.  It would be a lot more relaxing I can guarantee you that.  But that isn't what it's supposed to be about.  There are other aspects of my life.  Like my depression.  It isn't something that I like to talk about a lot.  I'm too afraid people will think that I'm trying to get attention because of it or that I'm lying or something else like that.  Whatever the case is, its something that I generally try very hard to hide.

It's probably also the reason I like candy so much.

Now that might seem like a leap in logic to some of you.  But really, there is a logic there.  You see, sweets release endorphins.  They make you happy.  That's why people usually enjoy eating them.  I use that to self-medicate especially when things are getting bad or I'm afraid that they might.  It's really not the best way to go about things, but going to the doctor isn't always an option and I really have this bad habit of not liking to spend money on taking care of myself.  I don't like buying shoes.  I don't like paying for medicine.  It's a really bad pattern, a worse habit.  Of course if my friends were to try and do the same thing I'd probably yell at them and when they realize what I'm doing they get on me.

Turnabout is fair play I suppose.

But that's why I love my friends.  They are there for me and I am there for them.  We've created our own little family of sorts.  We're all a little broken, but its okay because it helps us to understand the others.  We can see past the flaws that trip them up and they can show us that some things are worth living for if things get too dark.  It's a very real kind of therapy and a very real kind of family unit.  Some people say that family is the most important thing and I agree.  But I also think that sometimes we can't only count the family that we are born with.

Families argue.  They bicker.  Sometimes they know each other well enough to not really know each other at all.  When it comes to biological family there are certain expectations and for someone like me, it feels like I have never and will never meet them.  Whether that is true or not is yet to be seen.  When it comes a family unit of friends, however, the expectations become different.  It is not about pleasing everyone else or trying to find a way to see that you matter in their eyes because you already know you do.  When you pick friends for your family...you pick and you choose and in doing so, you show someone just how much they are really worth.

Review: Raising the Curve: A Year Inside One of America's 45,000* Failing Public Schools

Raising the Curve: A Year Inside One of America's 45,000* Failing Public Schools by Ron Berler

My rating: 4 of 5 stars



I'm not a bid reader of non-fiction. I don't think I ever really have been, but every now and then there are books that make me consider, well, reconsidering that point of view. This definitely one of those books. Well-written, highly researched, and very honest, Raising the Curve gives us a glimpse into a failing school, Brookside Elementary. But it's more than just a year as the title would have you believe because there is so much more to this school. There is the history of the town to be considered. The view of education that has laid the groundwork for where the school is, and even the groundwork for several of the children's lives who play main roles in this narrative.

But it seems hard to call it just a narrative. Written in a very conversational manner calling it a narrative almost makes me think that I'm trying to tell you about a well-researched piece of fiction when, in fact, that is not the case. This is a real story and, in a way, that makes what is written all the more poignant. Not everything ends happily or even magically. Bad things still happen and people still struggle and don't always come through victorious. I suppose, in a way, that makes the victories that are seen that much sweeter.

The story, in many ways, felt all too brief. I wanted to read more. I wanted to become more immersed in the story and the lives of these children and their teachers. I pray the best for them and wish that there was something I could do to help any school facing such a situation. I suppose, in many ways, that that is exactly what this book is meant to do. And it does it very well. Education is something that should be taken seriously before it becomes too late to reserve any damage which negligence does to it.



View all my reviews

Doing Without

Another month, another set of paychecks.  I've discovered that when it comes to my job, I do not work full time.  I am perfectly alright with that.  As it is I work about thirty hours a week when all is sad and done with early clock-ins and having to stay over to get this or that done or to cover whoever needs help at the register.  And that works out well for me.  Of course it still leaves me very poor, but I'm used to living as a poor person so that isn't really the matter.

However, it does make things interesting living from paycheck to paycheck.  You see, it presents me with this little problem.  That problem revolves around my phone.  My phone is one that is sans contract which is nice for these months when I somehow manage to forget the phone or simply have to put other things before it.  Of course it also means that I have to make due without my phone for the time being.  I find that to be both highly stressful and strangely liberating at the same time.  There is something utterly relieving about not having to worry about calling so-and-so or texting a person back by a particular time.

Of course it also makes you wonder if something is going to happen in the interim.  Will the world fll apart while people are essentially unable to reach me?  I do wonder this one some level, but that just seems silly.  They can still reach me.  I'm obviously still getting online so there are ways.  But we have this conception with phones that that is the only acceptable way to truly communicate with people.  Now not everyone suffers from this particular belief, but unfortunately I do know people who do and I find it limiting.  Yes, I think it's important to have a phone.  To be able to call and text and communicate in that most direct of manners, but at the same time, it shouldn't be what we depend upon.  We have the ability to write for a reason.

Alright, I just had to get that out.  I was thinking about it yesterday after work since I couldn't actually text anyone to pick me up from work.  I had to wait for someone at the store to get off so I could get a ride home.  Which wasn't bad.  I only had to wait for about two hours so it wasn't so bad.

So! Update for the week!  I am still working on Cloud Atlas.  I am about half way through at this point, but given I have the next two days off I should (hopefully) be able to finish it or the other book that I have started working on Raising the Curve.  Not a bad read so far, I'm still very early on, but it is definitely not my usual kind of read.  It's not often that I read non-fiction, but this one is turning out to be very well-written and gives a very interesting insight that I am enjoying.  I'll keep you updated as much as I can!  And for anyone interested in the writing aspect of my life, I am trying to resurrect my writing blog Writing is Life.  I hope that you all have a wonderful day and I'll see you later this week!

Glory of Reading

So, for those people who know me, they'll know that I love to read.  I have loved to read for years.  I actually didn't like reading when I was little.  They they started teaching us how to read in kindergarten, I had a lot of trouble with it. I can actually that in first grade I actually got a grasp on the whole concept, but that doesn't mean that I wanted any of it.  I was more happy just playing around with my brothers and friends or watching TV and movies.  I liked dreaming even.  No, my love of reading didn't come until about fourth or fifth grade.

My mother had started to read the Harry Potter books to use out loud.  She would read a chapter, sometimes two, a night.  It was our favorite part of the night honestly.  At least, I know it was for me.  We were on book three or four when I decided that I wanted to read the first one.  We had already gotten through it, but I wanted to reread it.  I had already enjoyed the book once after all, I was certain I would enjoy it again.  Three days later I had read my very first book.

To some people, the might not be a big deal, but to me it meant everything.  For the first time, reading wasn't a chore that I had to do for school.  It was something that I could take pleasure in.  A point of joy and pride.  And so, I found another book and another.  Sometimes they were silly nonsensical books.  Sometimes they were books that changed my perspective of how I read or thought or even wrote when I started probably a year later.

And I can't say that I remember a time in between.  A time when I had to learn to love reading.  The moment that I found pleasure in it, I was lost.  And it's progressively gotten worse depending on a person's opinion.  Honestly, I don't think that such a thing is really so bad.  There is something very liberating in reading.  It teaches us.  Every person takes something different away from each book.  Every book gives us a new perspective of the world.

Of course there are those people who say that they just don't like to read.  They aren't readers.

I've always found that hard to believe.  I rather like the saying: "Anyone who says they don't like to read hasn't read the right book."  I guess that's just the very biased opinion of a bookworm.  It's like with any hobby or great passion as the case very clearly is.  We just can't believe that other people can't love the things that we do as much as we do.  It simply seems utterly unfathomable to us.  So we came up with the wonderful phrase: "To each his own."

It's nice.  It's catchy.  It's an annoyed way to end an argument.  Even a preemptive way to end an argument.  Usually how I use it actually, far more preferable than actually going through the comment.  But I've gone off track.  I'm actually really good at that and I need to stop that kind of thing.

I was talking about reading.  The beauty that is reading.  Some would say that reading as much as I do is an anti-social behavior.  Likely half of my life is taken up by reading.  I have actually been admonished for it in the past.  Teachers were concerned I was not socializing enough and told I could not have any reading at school that was not school required for two weeks.  It was a failed experiment.  Some of us are not very good at socializing.  We're not built for it just as some are not very good at sports.  Some are not very good at math or science.  We all have different skills.

It's what our world is built of.  It is the way that we humans are.  I suppose that is where our phrase to each his own is based from.  As annoying as the phrase is, we also have to admit that not everyone can be the same.  And what a dull world it would be if we were.  We are not all meant to be the same.  And I think reading can show you that.  Reading is a way to escape true.  But it's also a way to study people.  Through books we see different perspectives, different motives, different worlds.  Nothing is ever the same.

Books preserve heritages.  They can be used to tell the truth or perpetuate a lie.  Books are simple.  No matter how complicated the plot.  No matter what the twists and turns, it is always the same.  You might be able to find something new with each reading, but you're not wondering if what you're reading is true or not.  Even non-fiction.  What you read each time is perspective.  A perspective forever preserved in time that you are being allowed to see in its entirety.

What could be more glorious than that?

The Wonders of Stress

We all have stress.  I suppose that it's just something natural.  It's how we deal with it that matters.  It's kind of like anger or circumstances.  We all have to deal with them at some point, it's how we deal with them that matters.  And right now I'm thinking that I'm very good at avoiding them.  I'm very good at avoiding what I have to face in my life.  I don't like the thought of facing my mistakes and my failings.  Now don't get me wrong, I will own up to them.  I'm actually very good at that part.

Probably too good.

But once I've admitted to them, I want to move on.  I don't want to face them again.  It's not that uncommon either I think.  Who wants to admit that they screw up?  And it's even worse when you look at yourself and you can't see anything good.  You can't see things that should make you smile.  You can't see things that are good about your life.  All you can focus on is the bad.  All you can do is wonder why in the world you haven't ended everything.

And I have thought that before.  I thought it only an hour or two ago.  I'm not proud of that fact.  I'm not proud of knowing that I've contemplated suicide.  Not seriously.  I won't claim that, but the thought has flitted through my mind.  And it is something that frightens me.  It is something that I can't continue to deny either.  It, like many of my failings is something that I can't ignore no matter how much I desperately want to.  I'm not proud of the place I am at in my life, but I also know it's my life and that I still live it.  That's something I have to cling to desperately.

My friends will be surprised to read this of course.  Especially the ones who I was speaking to, but I won't deny it.  I just, couldn't bring myself to tell them.  I hide a lot.  I hide what I feel because expressing things verbally for me has never been easy.  There comes a point when you have to start speaking though however you can.  The problem is that we make a mistake in our society.  We believe that people should be strong and independent.  We shouldn't show off our problems.  And I think there comes a point where reaching out for help gets confused with being desperate for attention.

I don't want to be desperate for attention.

I don't want to be that person.  I don't want to stand there and demand that people look at me and pay attention to me.  And so instead, I just don't tell people.  I mean, I do talk about some of my issues, but I laugh them off.  I'm very good at insulting myself in a very roundabout way.  I have been for years.  And I just brush it off hoping that people just won't really notice it.  I want them to ask me what's wrong, but when they do, I just can't bring myself to tell them what is.  Instead, I just smile and tell them that I'm okay.  And I guess the fact that they're asking is good enough.

That's not the right view for life.

That's not the right view to keep a person sane.  I know that I need to get all of this out if not for my own sake than for the sake of others, but at the same time there is still a part of me that is afraid of admitting any of this.  I don't want people to realize just how bad off I've let my mental state get.  I'm afraid to see what people will say when they read this.  What they'll do.  And yet, there comes a point when you can't be quiet anymore.  And I've been quiet for a long time.  I mean, there are times when I've tried to speak up.  I've tried to explain the way I feel, but I always think I fail.  It gets brushed off or ignored and I let it.

I'd rather help everyone else and forget that I might have needs.

I'm really good at that actually.  That isn't to say I don't buy things for myself, but I don't necessarily buy things that will let me take care of myself.  I'm too afraid to invest in myself because I don't think I'm worth it.  And I know I have my friends who will tell me that I'm wrong.  They will tell me that I am worth it.  And I'll tell them thank you and put on a smile, but in the end, if I'm going to be honest, I don't really believe it.  If I believed it, maybe I would have finished college.  Maybe I wouldn't have gotten engaged.  Maybe I would have a novel published and selling on store shelves.

There are a thousand maybes.  A thousand possibilities.  And none of them are real.  They're things in the past that would have been affected by things I could have done.  Things that I haven't done.  And so I have to look at the things that are in front of me.  The things that are real and tangible.  The things that are with me now and that are ahead of me.  I have to be honest.  I would like to keep hiding behind everything.  I'm really good at that, but I can't.  If I keep hiding.  Things are only going to get worse.

And worse is not where I can allow myself to be.

And so, here I stand.  Or sit rather as I'm at my desk in front of my laptop.  But I'm trying to lay myself bare before my family, friends, and all those who care about me.  I guess you could call this my cry for help, for sanity because I don't know what else to do.  And I understand if no one replies to this.  If no one knows what to do.  I'm going to be honest and say I don't know what to do.  That's why I'm doing this.  I want to tell people things, but saying it out loud is simply too difficult.  I have to do it this way instead.

Mom, Dad. (And by Dad, I mean Tony), if you're reading this: I love you.  I love both of you so much more than I can ever say and I know that you guys want me back in Montana and that you guys are concerned with how I'm living my life, and there is some part of that that is probably fairly accurate.  I'm trying though.  And I want you both to know that I really do love you.  I just, I don't know how to talk to you because I feel like you're both judging me.  I'm not like you both.  I wish I could be, because you're both amazing.  You're smart, practical and accomplished.  I have and always will admire that about both of you.  But there are times when I feel as if you expect me to know everything, but that that everything has to be exactly what you want from me.  And I don't know what that is.  I want your encouragement but I'm so afraid to tell you what's going on in my life because I'm afraid that it just won't be good enough.  And I want to be good enough.

I guess that's the root of the problem, isn't it?  I can't see myself as good enough to anyone.  Especially not to myself.  And it's something I know I need to get over and sometimes I can.  Sometimes I can ignore it and push past it.  But it's only ever a temporary fix.  Reading a book.  Writing a story.  Helping a friend.  Playing a video game.  Those things, as wonderful as they are, only distract me.  I can't let go of them.  They're a part of who I am.  It's just that they're the only part of me.  It's the part of me that I use as a self-induced medication.  I'm afraid to take pills anymore.  I don't want that stigma on me.  Because when I take pills for my depression (and I am depressed, I won't deny it) I feel like it's just another way of saying there is something wrong with me.

And I don't want to be that.  I don't want to present myself like that.  I've been told for so long that if there is something wrong with me, I can't let people see it and it's driving me into a ditch and my situation lately has let me see that.  I have to do something.  I have to find a way to fix my life.

I'm at the point, I have a job.  I try to work hard at it.  I'm not afraid of that.  Hastings is a good place to work and my co-workers are good people.  But I also have to take a step back and evaluate my situation.  I'm in debt.  I probably will be for a long time.  There is no avoiding that unless by some miracle of God I win a ridiculous amount of money that would make me feel sick to think about.  I don't have a car that runs.  And that is something that shames me.  I should buck up and deal with the few weeks that I would be out the money to fix it, but I'm so afraid that if I do something bad will happen and I won't have any money to deal with it or that I'll go hungry while trying to cover everything else.

And the worst of all that I just can't stop thinking about: come February I might be homeless.  That's a thought that floors me.  It's something that I think about and I start feeling sick and afraid and confused.  I just don't know what to do.  My credit score is terrible.  I know that much.  I don't make enough money to support myself on my own.  I'd need another job and, of course, to do that, I would need a car.  As it is, I feel like a horrible person for always depending on other people to keep me afloat at all.

I guess that's all there really is to say.  I know that some of this might come as a shock to people, but I feel that I finally have to start being honest with myself and with the people around me.  I might not like it, but I'm not a child and I have to stop acting like one and hiding everything about myself.

Even if I really want to.