Martha

He was realistic about it. There was that new harshness in his stomach.
No more fantasies, he told himself.
Henceforth, when he thought about Martha, it would only be to think that she belonged elsewhere. He would shut down the daydreams. This was not Mount Sebastian, it was another world, a place where men died because of carelessness and gross stupidity.
Briefly, in the rain. Lieutenant Cross saw Martha's gray eyes gazing back at him.
He understood.
It was very sad he thought. The things men carry inside. The things men did or felt they had to do.
He almost nodded at her, but he didn't.
Instead he went back to his maps. He was now determined to perform his duties firmly and without negligence.
- from, "The Things They Carried, by Tim O'Brien


Let me say again, I immensely enjoy our literature selections in my English class. My instructor wants me to seek out a minor in English. Such high aspirations I have created within my mind. I honestly desire to sit, read and discuss literature with my English professor. She emits a pure and genuine love for English. this is the lone reason for my decision to take her class at 730 in the morning, on a Monday. Ahhhhhh, the more we discuss O'Brien's work and the subtle meanings and literary devices he uses the more i fall in love with Literature and English.

Psychology later on in the afternoon. I always am enticed by the potential discussions and topics open for debate.

I am first in my Baseball fantasy league!! This is my first attempt at playing fantasy baseball, and I am overjoyed with the current results. I am overjoyed with the current results in life! I know I have stated I would refrain from expressing my emotional joy and the few happiness's in life, as far as relations are concerned, but ty Candice, ty.


All at once we were madly, clumsily, shamelessly, agonizingly in love with each other; hopelessly, I should add, because that frenzy of mutual possession might have been assuaged only by our actually imbibing and assimilating every particle of each other's soul and flesh; but there we were...
- from "Lolita" by Vladimir Nabokov