I had a story much better then the one I told yesterday and I completely forgot about it…I am getting old, what can I say!

Last Saturday Josiah, Catherine, and I went out to Emily’s house to watch a movie or two.  While Emily and I were cooking Dave, Emily’s father, came in and this is what happened:

Dave:  JOSHUA!

Emily:  Dad, his name is Josiah.

Dave:  What?  How am I supposed to know that?  I thought his name is Joshua.  His name isn't Joshua?

Emily:  No dad.  It’s Josiah.

Dave:  Oh….  JOSIAH!  Do you want to come outside and help me?  You can hold the pigs while I castrate them.

Josiah:  Umm…No it’s ok.  Thanks though.

Dave:  Ok.

Dave leaves the house…
Five minutes later:

Dave:  Hey Josiah.  Are you sure you don’t want to help?  I promise it won’t hurt you!

Josiah:  I am sure.  Maybe some other time…

Dave: Alright…

Dave leaves the house, again.

The end.
It's coming and I can see it!
School is almost over for the summer and I am so excited.  Yesterday I went through all of my stuff and reorganized my folders and wrote down everything that I have left to do for each class.  It was nice to see that while I still have a few projects to finish, within the next week I will be completely finished.

The last section that we did in my creative writing class was poetry.  I really don't like poetry all that much.  And the one thing that I dislike more then reading it, is writing it.  Over the course of the section we had to write five different poems; which was not my cup of tea.  My professor, who is a hard critic, always seemed to like them.  However, he always seemed to find something that I should change or take out.  The very last poem that we wrote had to be about a political or social issue anywhere in the world.  I hate poetry and politics.  I had no idea how I was going to pull the final poem off.  I was sitting at work about five minutes before I had to leave for class and I still had not finished started my political/social issue poem.  So then I started to panic and started to think about the arranged marriage that I want to have, but never will have.  From there I ended up with a two page poem about arranged marriages.
As if having to write this poem was not bad enough.  I had to read it in front of the class.  A class that is much better at writing then I am.  There were only nine people there, including the professor and myself, so that was not the issue.  It was that I had to stand there, read something that I wrote (Little did they know it was more of a reality for me then what I lead them to believe.), and then I had to stand there for twenty minutes and listen to my fellow class mates and professor critique it. 
The entire time I was reading my two page poem I was dreading the critique and I could not look at anyone.  When I got done the room was completely silent.  Which is not normal.  That class likes to talk about anything at all times (It drives me nuts!).  And then came the gasp.  The gasp scared me and yet at the same time it relaxed me.  Then after what seemed to be an eternity someone finally said something.  One of the girls who has been in my group all semester said, "I LIKED THAT!  That is my most favorite thing you have written all year."  And then after that everyone else felt the need to tell me how much they liked it.  One person even told me she could tell I spent a lot of time on it.  Then this past Tuesday she was still talking about it.
I got my paper back and the only marks that my professor made on it were: you did this well, i like this, very good, nice use of punctuation, good line break.  He had nothing bad to say.  I was shocked. 

However, with all that said.  It is still staying locked away and the only other person who will see it is my professor when I turn my portfolio in for the final grade.
I just felt like I should share something and that has been my only accomplishment in the last few weeks.  So there you have it.

Every single day my parents call or text message me asking me what my plans for the night are.  Every day I give them the same answer.  "Having a party!" 
And they just say, "Ok make sure you clean up before we get home.  And we get 50% of the cans to turn back in for money."

First of all.  Lets be honest.  I am an old woman.  I have been in bed by 10:00 (usually earlier) every night this week.  The most partying I have done since they left would have to be scrapbooking at the Corps.
Secondly.  Why on earth do they think that I would be willing to part with free money?!?!?  They must be out of their minds!

Anyway...
My family comes home tomorrow.  One last night to enjoy my freedom and I have to be at youth councils.

But whatever.
Man, I could go for a nap right about now...
I guess it's time to get back to work.

Later~