If it weren't for my English teachers, I wouldn't have been introduced to or been able to eventually understand on my ownHamlet or Beowulf. I wouldn't have been able to recite poetry with ease and diction; in fact I wouldn't have been able to memorize poetry very well at all. I wouldn't have read The Great Gatsby or Pride and Prejudice. I wouldn't have been able to write contest-winning essays. I wouldn't have been read short stories like The Yellow Wallpaper.

So what could I do with the rest of my life that would be better than giving all these wonderful things that have enriched my life on a level that math or science never could to the next generation? 

Here's a little sample of some things I absolutely love from all my English classes:

Sylvia Plath 

Mirror 
 
I am silver and exact. I have no preconceptions.
Whatever I see, I swallow immediately.
Just as it is, unmisted by love or dislike
I am not cruel, only truthful –
The eye of a little god, four-cornered.
Most of the time I meditate on the opposite wall.
It is pink, with speckles. I have looked at it so long
I think it is a part of my heart. But it flickers.
Faces and darkness separate us over and over.
 
Now I am a lake. A woman bends over me.
Searching my reaches for what she really is.
Then she turns to those liars, the candles or the moon.
I see her back, and reflect it faithfully
She rewards me with tears and an agitation of hands.
I am important to her. She comes and goes.
Each morning it is her face that replaces the darkness.
In me she has drowned a young girl, and in me an old woman
Rises toward her day after day, like a terrible fish. 

"Alas, poor Yorick!--I knew him, Horatio; a fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy: he hath borne me on his back a thousand times; and now, how abhorred in my imagination it is! my gorge rises at it." Hamlet

"She was a fat middle-aged woman with dyed red hair and suspiciously thick lips and rat-colored skin and she wouldn't even turn off the light, so he'd had her under a fly-spotted twenty-five-watt bulb, and it was nothing like it was cracked up to be. It was as boring as going to the toilet." 
- Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar, Chapter 7

Blogging makes me nervous. D:

I wanna sit here, and complain about everything bad that happens in my life, and rejoice about everything else, but I do that as soon as I get home from work at 11 or later every night to my perfect boyfriend.

By then I'm already extremely tired of everything I had to say and don't wish to repeat it 'cause once I've told my other half it's automatically old news.

I've decided to major in interior design but sometimes I just wanna major in English and be a writer and edit your horrid papers and drink cappuccinos with no sugar. *Sigh.

I decided to spend all my tithing money on panties because I don't go to church anymore anyways, and as soon as I told my mom that, I felt bad. I didn't really feel bad spending it though, which really just means I'm more worried about my mom being disappointed in me than God. :( 

Tomorrow's my day off, and I'm thinking about buying a curling iron. The ones I have now are a 1.5 inch and I lil' tiny one.. Ugh. I feel so financially overwhelmed that saving any money will just be worthless. I'm only going to have my job for about three more weeks, which means I'll be finally away from all those negative people but I won't have an income, which means I'll have to ask my mom to buy me chocolate when I'm PMSing and buy me cotton balls when I run out, and every yes will come with a "we don't have any money" which translates to, "How dare you ask me to buy you cotton balls when your dad can't even get his cataract removed?" :( 

Omg. Enough complaining. :) I love my life. I love my boyfriend. My birthday's in four days. College is in twenty-two days. Soon I'll get to wake up and talk to my baybay again. :)