Splendiferous Conventionality

there is a block. a square. a square block-- aren't most blocks square ?-- sitting between my shoulders. fascinating to me that this could occur with so much swirling around about the air between my ears. i have books to aid in these kind of things- but i just feel stubborn and do not want someone 'telling' me what to write. (sheesh) i have seen or heard many things lately that are certainly worthy of 'penning' but yet i can't. perhaps i can but haven't. i want to write something different. perhaps i can not because i have math (logic=letters) and a literature novel "A Little Yellow Dog" all running through my mind instead- keeping me free from creativity but rather focused on school as needed. hungry for semester to end but yet it is had made my stomach ache. when it ends, it will begin again. all that i have worked for will no longer be on the back burner, it will be moved up to the front and the temperature cranked. i have the map in front of m

my memory is failing me. if in fact it is true that our brains only use a certain percent, then it makes sense that when new information must be stored, old information must be cleaned out. kind of like a coat closet. one can not continue to stuff years and years of coats into that tiny space and expect it to function as a proper coat closet without items wrinkling and flowing out... ( apparently, in case you are wondering and/or are worried, this percentage thing is a myth ) but i wish most that i could have a choice in what should be 'replaced'... i certainly do NOT need to know how to beat Super Mario Brothers one, two, and three (including every extra life and warp zone). Although, i am pretty certain i earned a fair amount of 'cool' points from my son when i proved that i could do this still! Another bit of useless info stored in my grey matter- cartoon and television characters that i watched as early as age 4. What good are these memories? Sure it brings me

Reflection: Fatigued. I feel rather blank at this point. Spent from emotion on lessons and life events coupled with the routine stress of scholastic adventure. Standing at your hospital bed and seeing you so vulnerable, while suffering terribly from pain and the stresses associated with the unknown and assumable accompaniment of outrageous hospital bills within the discovery; I flashed back within my heart to two years before with one that we lost. I would be lying if I said I had felt strong, or prepared, or brave enough to stand beside those cold bars, and that thin mattress without distress for what might be. I prayed unconsciensly to God to better you absolutely immediatly and for it to be nothing or something small and uneventful. Your pain was mine, your tears I shared, and your fear I felt. Although I was greatly overwhelmed with the work I have to deal with this weekend- I could find myself nowhere else appropriate other than at your side. It felt absolutely necessary- and