What English Means to Me

What English Means To Me.

We hates it, Precious

It is a story I have told to many people and will likely tell many more in the future; however, perhaps if you yourself have not heard it I might fill you in on how my love of English began? I was bought a copy of The Hobbit when I was in sixth grade by my mother. At the time I was not explicitly interested in reading; my energies were directed at my SNES, the All-Father of my time and attention. I distinctly remember the issues my mother had with video games and it was this: where will all his time go if he is playing on that thing [the SNES in question]?” It was around this time I was pushed into trying to read things that were harder and harder for me, things that made me frustrated and upset (one of the ‘chiefest of calamities’ at my age being ‘Mad Dog of Lobo Mountain,’ one of the D.J. Dillon Adventure books). 

Break Ups and Other Tragic Things

Even attending college with professors that are understanding (every one of them that I have encountered at The University of Texas at Tyler), they still can't shelter you from personal drama.

I fell in and out (arguable) of love with a writer this year, lost another friend to suicide, and found out an awful lot about myself in the process. Painful, but necessary to grow from, and not linger in.

I also learned that heart-ache is not conducive to learning. I made an incomplete in my summer class.
My professor is working with me.
I get to make it all up.
It won't be a big fat negative on my record.
They didn't even ask for details.

It is moments like this that we could worry, but it helps to seek out help if you have a need.
I can't help but feel lucky.