Chicken

I'm driving my car this afternoon and ahead of me was a beautiful convertible Sebring-one of my favorite cars. I drove up next to it and notice the driver-an attractive man. Ok, he was an extremely good-looking man and I took a second look...and a third look. Opportunity knocks: we're both pulling up to the stoplight, he's in the next lane over, a little bit behind me and I decide I'm going to smile at him as soon as he gets close enough. I look in my rear view mirror and glimpse my hair-my unkempt, clipped up mess-and chicken out. The light turns green, I speed up, he drives away.

If you're one of my closest friends, you'll be in shocked disbelief. What, me? Not smile? Impossible! Me chicken out? Yeah, I couldn't believe it either-but you should have seen my hair!

I'm not poor...

In an effort to do something productive and not waste time on my fake cafes, I'll tell you a story. The bonus is: it's a true story. At the end, well...there really is no ending, but I'll leave you to ponder the meaning of the story. Here we go:

A few weeks ago I was at my favorite spot at the beach, sitting alone on a bench on the cliff above. After just a few minutes a tall, gray haired, old man, with a garden hoe in his hand, asked if he could sit and empty the sand in his shoes. Of course I said "of course." As soon as he sat down, he lightly complained about the sand in his shoes, showed me the small trace of sand, shook his shoe, then proved to me that there's more sand in there than we thought there was. He put his shoe back on, sighed and said, "Now for the question of the day, are you ready?"

"Why not" I thought. So I said to him "I guess I am."

And he proceeded: "What is the difference between being broke, and being poor?"

I said the first thing that came to my mind: "Being broke is a physical fact. If you're broke, you're broke. Either you have money, or you don't. If you're broke, you can eventually get un-broke. Being poor is a choice, a state of mind, a feeling." He smiled at me and said, "You're right-and that's the best answer I've heard all day. You know, you can go into a restaurant and have a burger and enjoy it, a millionare can also go into that same restaurant, have the same burger, and not enjoy it." Then he proceeded to give me a short rendition of his life story, introduced himself, shook my hand, and left.

It's late...

I started this blog to write about my adventure in going back to college, but I discovered something: I don't like to write. Here I am, an English major, working to become an English Teacher, and I don't really like to write. I'm not sure why. I don't know if it's because I'm super critical of my writing-most writers are, but, in an effort to boost my own ego, I'll share with you that I had a proffessor tell me that most "good writers" are super-critical of their writing. I take that as a compliment to me, and my writing, but I'm sure she just meant in general. Anyway, what I do like, or rather, thoroughly love with all of my being, is reading. I must have a book to read, always. It sounds crazy, but I even enjoy reading my textbooks. That is why I want to be an English Teacher: the written word. Reading. Reading is where it all begins. It's how we learn to express ourselves, talk, problem solve, and...write (not to mention spell correctly)

At this point, I'll try to blog more. Simply because I've wasted tons of time playing stupid games and things on Facebook, etc...Don't get me wrong, I love keeping in touch with friends and family on Facebook, email, etc...but how many fake cafes can 1 person have?