Books

I've come to notice over my years and years of reading, that my choice and amount of interest in books are primarily dependent upon the look of them. That's funny, one might say, since we're told from a very young age not to judge a book by its cover, but what about the paper, or binding, or font within?

Maybe it makes me a reverse book snob, but I cannot stand a book that is on crisp white paper. The book that I am currently being asked to read by my creative writing professor is on such paper, with wide margins and minute font with a much too big gap in between the lines. It irks me to no end. I open the book and the pages catch the light, reflecting an almost sunny-like sheen on my face and it bother me! The also, this book has a single paperback cover, but has a jacket quality to it. It had a flap on the front and back cover. Sorry, Mr. Book, but that's just not allowed in my book (bad pun). Paper back books have the normal kind of cover that are just like a thicker version of the paper within, and hardback books have a had cover and a paper jacket with flaps in order to keep it on. This book breaks laws, indeed. There's absolutely no need for flaps on this style of book,and it really bothers me!

One thing I do like about this book, however, is the cover art itself. It's a dark, royal blue cover with silver writing. I love gold or silver etchings on a plain, solid background, so to me, it look extremely elegant and makes me want to open it. I also really like the biding method. when you open the cover and crease it back, the crease is lost in a silver line on the cover, and when you open the rest of the pages, it stays open without having to crack the binding. Quality, if I do say so myself.

If only we could work on the inside...
And i fonly I could muster up the tolerance to actually read my assignment...

Sleep...

I haven't slept for about 42 hours, and yet I find myself wandering around my room, doing trivial things and unable to sleep.

It's not so much that I'm forcing myself to stay awake. I want to sleep. I want to relax. The problem lies with my stress levels, as well as my expectations of the life I'm living. There's so much that I love about it, but so much more that I want, that would make it whole. Looking at it from the outside, it's a small part, but I can see it as a big part. I want it. I'm ready for it, so now it's just a waiting game to see if I can receive it.

So, I continue to stay awake. Counting the hours and minutes as they go by, thinking and wondering with heavy lids and a light head.

Oh well, I suppose. If things happen, they happen. If sleep happens, it happens.

Summer

I'm never one for poetry, but I had to write this for creative writing and I thought it turned out okay. The key to poetry, I'm told, is sincerity. Well, there you go. I don't rhyme, and there's not much of a flow, but whatever.

Warm breezes and long drives
burning wood and the taste of champagne.
Looking up to see the twinkling
of the smallest yet brightest of lights.
The soft touches and warm embraces,
caresses of senses complete.

Playing in the flames
and talking about nothing
but smiling all the while.
Falling in love, perhaps,
Or just living in a fling.
Either way, bliss fills the pair.

Both cuddled around the open flame,
whispering as if no one can hear
their secrets over the crackling.
Breathing in the summer smoke,
both from the wood and tobacco
that set their season alight.

Temporary or not
the nights live on within each of them.
Brought to life by familiar moments
touches, smells, tastes, songs.
One knows what they want,
while the other holds back.

But when the fall comes
and life goes on,
and their moments end,
she’s afraid she’ll be left behind,
reveling in that summer haze
of wood and tobacco smoke.

Those things...

I want to steal everything negative away from you.
I want to kiss away the tears that you refuse to cry but I know are there.
I want to take away all your pain and replace it with such feelings that only someone like me can give.
I want to sip the worries and uncertainty from your lips and draw it out of you for good.
I want to steal the words you use to worry others and replace them with the laugh I love so much.
I want to comfort you with just one look.
I want to give you a reason to smile and look forward to tomorrow.
I want to love you, if only you let me.

Latest Song Obsession

I love this song. I love the lyrics and the meaning behind it. It's my latest obsession.

I've been roaming around, I was looking down at all I see
Painted faces fill the places I can't reach
You know that I could use somebody
You know that I could use somebody

Someone like you and all you know and how you speak
Countless lovers under cover of the street
You know that I could use somebody
You know that I could use somebody
Someone like you

Off in the night while you live it up I'm off to sleep
Waging wars to shake the poet and the beat
I hope it's gonna make you notice
I hope it's gonna make you notice

Someone like me, someone like me
Someone like me, somebody

I'm ready now, I'm ready now
I'm ready now, I'm ready now
I'm ready now, I'm ready now
I'm ready now

Someone like you, somebody
Someone like you, somebody
Someone like you, somebody

I've been roaming around, I was looking down at all I see


What's so interesting is that the words are so damn perfect, yet so damn simple. Well, I am ready now. And I hope you notice.

Joys of Being an R.A.

As I'm sure anyone who knows me knows that I got a position as a resident assistant this school year.

Well, even though school has been in session for almost a month now, very little has gone on.

The first thing that I was ever called in on was something completely harmless, yet scary and hilarious all wrapped into one. I was sitting in my arm chair that faces my door on my duty night, doing some homework, when one of my residents appeared in my doorway. She was half laughing, obviously trying to speak. She managed to let out that she needed my "muscles" in her suite mate's room. Curious and half concerned, I followed her, figuring that maybe they needed to move some furniture or something (since out furniture is outrageously heavy and bulky).

Anyway, on the way down the hallway, she explains to me that her suite mate and few friends were trying to lower the bed in her room that was lofted. Apparently, mid-move, something went awry, causing one of the friends to become trapped. Needless to say, my concern grew and my pace quickened.

When we arrived, I walked into the room and saw a boy holding up one end of the bed. obviously he couldn't move, else the bed would come crashing to the floor. I relaxed a little, figuring that this is what my resident called being "trapped," and started to devise a plan to free him from his position. That is, until I heard a voice coming from between the two beds. Bending over and cocking my head to the side, I realized that between the wall and the lower bed, and UNDER the bed that was being held up by the other boy, was yet ANOTHER boy, quite literally trapped between the beds. He gave me a cheery hello and waved. My jaw dropped in disbelief. He assured me he was okay, just rather uncomfortable with being pinned in such a way. The other boy shared that we couldn't just pull the bed out from off him, but it would have to be lifted, since the bar on the other side of the higher bed was on the wall side of the boy. Luckily, however, there was a group of boys going down the hallway, which one of my residents flagged down, and they came in and assisted us in lifting it off the poor boy.

Once freed, the boy just laughed. All the while, I was trying to regain a normal breathing pattern and heart beat. how the hell does that happen!? It definitely made for a good story for my fellow RAs.


Then, last week, while having a study group meeting in my room, I heard screaming and shouting coming from the hallway. With a roll of my eyes, I went out to investigate. From the room directly next to me, I saw a few of my residents standing out in the hallway, hands clasped over their mouths and a loud commotion coming from their common room. Concerned once again, I inquired as to what the problem was. Come to find out, apparently their bathroom door was shaking within its frame, as if someone was pushing it and knocking on it, from the inside. The girls refused to open the door, obviously scared to death.

Well, being afraid that something serious was going on, and knowing that it was my job to take care of these girls, walked right up and opened the door. As soon as the door swung open, the girls that were crowded around me screamed, and this is what we saw.


(If you can't tell, they're wearing clear masks...)

Apparently, they were some of my other residents playing a trick on their floor mates. Oh, my residents.

Jessie Jean - 1: Tea - 1

Looking back, it always seems like the best posts that I update here are the ones that I recount an event of me spilling something on either myself or something I own. Well today, I win, because I did both. Although looking at it from the outside looking in, I guess it would more likely be classified as a fail rather than a win.

I win at failing.

There we go. That's Jessie Jean in a nut shell.

So anyway. As I am going about my own business on this late summer night, I decided that while studying, some yummy and hot Earl Grey tea sounded mighty perfect. After brewing some hot water and steeping the bags, I settled down at my computer, taking notes from my previously taken notes as well as a set of slides that had been supplied by my professor.

I was making great time. Copying things down once again to further solidify its place in my mind for the quiz I have tomorrow. And every once in a while, I would set down my pen and pick up my nice ceramic mug of tea and bask in its warmth and sweet taste.

On one occasion, however, I managed to have my notes on my lap in front of me as I was angled away from my computer, but still was succeeding in getting the information I needed from both sources for my new little notecards. Keeping my pen in hand, I decided to grab for my mug as I read a post over again, trying to decipher its meaning into something I could easily remember. As I drew the mug upwards to my lips and tilted it ever so slightly, I found my lips empty of the warm goodness of the tea, but felt an unexpected and surprisingly warm sensation on my bust and then on my stomach.

Acting quickly, I realized that because my full attention wasn't on the mug and my hand, I manged to miss my lips by about a good inch and a half. Now, I didn't think that my hand eye coordination in a peripheral sense was THAT bad, but apparently I was compeltely proven wrong.

I kept calm enough not to jump up and get the caramel colored tea all over my carpet, but let loose a few choice words in the moment, and looked down disgusted as my immaculately-written-out notes were now running together against a dull brown stained background.

I do have to say, however, that my timing couldn't have been more perfect. Had I done it about twenty minutes before hand, I would have a few scald burns on my upper torso that would match the ones on my fingers that I received while preparing the tea, and probably wouldn't have spared my carpet in the "heat" of the moment. (Yes, that was a very well-placed, albeit corny, pun. Back off, it's almost 1:30 in the morning and I'm running off of very little sleep as is).

To top it all off, in classic Jessie Jean style, I happened to be wearing not one, but two white shirts, which of course both fell victim to the caramel colored intruder. They are now soaking in a nice bath of cold water and stain treatment.

Take that, tea! You may have managed to strike against me, but I was MORE than capable to handle you and your powers of evil.

Ugh

I’m making sure that I make my mark on society today, before I go and take a nap and sleep away my sickness.

Today, I feel like crap. I’m not hungry, I’m exhausted, goofy but physically and emotionally run down.

I guess it doesn’t help that when I was handed the directions to our class trip in Saturday, we’re taking the exact route that Josh takes when he comes up here. And to make matters worse, we’re going straight through Martinsville. I guess it will be a test for me – how bad it hurts when I go through there and not see him to know my exact feelings for him since I waver on them so badly, mainly because I am scared death to admit anything and be hurt yet again.

I would love it if he decided to come up tonight after his class though, like he talks about.

It would definitely make me feel better.

Anyway, going to take a nap now – good by conscious world!

Jessie Jean: Sardonic, sarcastic and snarky alike.

If you've cared to peruse my archives, you'll see that a majority of my entries are centered around my witty and observant nature. That's just me. I'm always see things with a different eye, rather through the lens and view finder of my camera, or through the eyes of someone who has been through a lot of circumstances, both good and bad, who digests them in different ways than that of a normal person.

My sarcastic and snarky nature of mine is what makes other people laugh and smile, of which I love. I'm hoping to more incorporate this into my writing, like I have on here, so that maybe I can make something of it one day. My project in journalism class in my freshman year in college was great, I thought. It got the message across of what I was doing, as well as incorporated my sense of humour.

The difference, I've noticed, is hat on here, I'm certain no one reads it, and I primarily write for my self. I always hope that people come across it and laugh, or see my inner thoughts, but most of the time, I know they won't. (On a side note, if anyone does read my blog, I apologize for the emo entries. People go through that sometimes and even though sometimes I contain it, sometimes my filter doesn't work so well.) I'm so much more free on here, and I'm going to start doing that on my writings for the paper.

So this is my goal. Do what I love and put my passion into what I'm good at. I'm a firm believer that if you have the passion and don't use it, you don't deserve to have it at all.