Saturday, April 10, 2010
Friday, March 19, 2010
Fire and Ice
Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I've tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.
~Robert Frost
Men of fire, burn with desire
Men of ice, are nothing nice.
You are cold, hard, and blue
I prefer a man of a more ember hue.
Enjoy the loss you cheap tease
because I'm fairly easy to please.
Words that are empty only go so far
They will leave wounds that heal and scar.
Remember this, you arrogant prick
I am the iciest, flame-ridden chick.
~Jessica Tracy
Some say in ice.
From what I've tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.
~Robert Frost
Men of fire, burn with desire
Men of ice, are nothing nice.
You are cold, hard, and blue
I prefer a man of a more ember hue.
Enjoy the loss you cheap tease
because I'm fairly easy to please.
Words that are empty only go so far
They will leave wounds that heal and scar.
Remember this, you arrogant prick
I am the iciest, flame-ridden chick.
~Jessica Tracy
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
Insanity
I'm writing to vent. I'm livid. Today started out pretty damn rotten!
I woke up and readied myself, as I would do on any other weekday. Being a Tuesday, I knew I would have three classes: Math, French, and Aerobics. After class, today, I was going to bathe and prepare myself for a job interview.
Needless to say, none of that is important. What *is* pertinent for this blog is how pitiful I feel. 30 minutes before Math, like any other day, I went out to the car and started it... Alas, the POJ did not start, did not turn over, did nothing. I turned the key again, thinking perhaps I just didn't turn it far enough. Silence.
Horror crept itself over me, as I realized the car was not starting. I turned the key again and again, violently. Still, no amiable outcome.
I threw my head back, inhaled deeply, and snapped my eyes shut: tightly. For a moment, I focused all of my thoughts on my eyelids, and used my years of anger training to fight back the boiling seething scream as it inched towards my throat. No, I did not scream. I did not cuss. I just focused on breathing, like a normal human being.
In the end, I stomped back into the house and fought the angry tears back. Eventually, I vented to a few people...
I did not go to class. I would not have gone to my interview, but Ian is saving me. I do not know how I will go to class tomorrow... or work, if I get the job. I feel trapped and unhappy.
Anyway, that is all.
I woke up and readied myself, as I would do on any other weekday. Being a Tuesday, I knew I would have three classes: Math, French, and Aerobics. After class, today, I was going to bathe and prepare myself for a job interview.
Needless to say, none of that is important. What *is* pertinent for this blog is how pitiful I feel. 30 minutes before Math, like any other day, I went out to the car and started it... Alas, the POJ did not start, did not turn over, did nothing. I turned the key again, thinking perhaps I just didn't turn it far enough. Silence.
Horror crept itself over me, as I realized the car was not starting. I turned the key again and again, violently. Still, no amiable outcome.
I threw my head back, inhaled deeply, and snapped my eyes shut: tightly. For a moment, I focused all of my thoughts on my eyelids, and used my years of anger training to fight back the boiling seething scream as it inched towards my throat. No, I did not scream. I did not cuss. I just focused on breathing, like a normal human being.
In the end, I stomped back into the house and fought the angry tears back. Eventually, I vented to a few people...
I did not go to class. I would not have gone to my interview, but Ian is saving me. I do not know how I will go to class tomorrow... or work, if I get the job. I feel trapped and unhappy.
Anyway, that is all.
Friday, November 27, 2009
Dee Doubleyou
This is a letter to a former instructor of mine.
As a freshman, I idolized you. You were strict, but seemingly fair towards your students. I was an aspiring author, as I still am, and you were a language arts teacher. I assumed you could be my mentor and further my writing...
Instead, this is what happened:
My sophomore year, I approached you to further myself. You let my dreams sit on your desk for months, without even glancing at them. I was crushed. After finally getting my unfinished manuscript back from you, I took it home and I burned it. I lost my passion for writing and I fell into a depression.
You grew more and more bitter towards me every year, for reasons I knew naught. I excelled in all of your classes, I was a good patient student who rarely spoke unless speaking was needed, I didn't cause trouble, I did my assignments, and I was intelligent! You had no reason to treat me like the dirt you did.
I came to a realization my Senior year, you only liked a specific handful of students. The same sarcastic cynical brats, who idolized you, yet turned around and talked poorly about you behind your back. They were the gossiping pricks who took your "special" classes and did you "special" favors. They were your minions, your babies, and you were their God.
I graduated, inviting you to my party because you made a point to say if you had a time and place, you would be sure to go to everyone's party... You never came. It only edged my bitter anger deeper. Why didn't you go to my party? You picked me, the one person who for no reason at all, you hated more than any other student... Me. Probably the best student you will ever have had... and you didn't go.
I went to your play, the next year, to say "Hi, how are you?" and when you saw me, the first thing you said, "You were never my favorite student."
What the hell was that supposed to mean? Why? What was the purpose of saying that to me?
I sat down, solemnly, gritting my teeth and fighting back the angry tears, my friend put me in his arms and said, "You know why he hates you, don't you?"
"No!" I cried out, the seething anger boiling and festering in my body.
"Because he was going to be an author, but his book sucked, so he was turned down. Now he's a bitter old man and no one likes him."
It hit me then. He was right. You are just a bitter man. You failed at your one dream, and I reminded you of yourself. An inspired filled young author, who knew where she was going and what she wanted to do. You wanted to kick the dirt off of your feet, but instead, you got stuck in the mud. You became a bitter High School teacher, so you could destroy the dreams of those after you.
You almost did it, you fucking bastard. You almost made me think I couldn't do it. I was about to take your road. I made jokes of taking your job even. I know, I would never be a good teacher... and you aren't a good teacher. You settled, and know this you raging pile of dog shit, I will not settle. I will become an author, because you failed. You did not dispirit me, you only made me stronger. If I can survive unnecessary scrutiny for four years, I can do anything.
You, old man, go on. Continue being bitter, continue being hateful towards your students, continue being the jerk you are... and know that you failed. I am going to be more successful than you could ever have imagined.
You gave up too easily. I hope you enjoy your the life you settled for, you bitter toad. To all the times you deliberately forgot I existed. To all of the down putting things you did to me. To everything you ever said to try and get under my skin or hurt my feelings, I give them all back to you now, you ugly fuck. I am going to become a renowned author, and you are going to continue being a penniless instructor for the school district.
Shame on you for trying to destroy a young girl's dreams.
Sincerely,
Jessica Dawn Tracy
P.S.
Fuck you. :)
As a freshman, I idolized you. You were strict, but seemingly fair towards your students. I was an aspiring author, as I still am, and you were a language arts teacher. I assumed you could be my mentor and further my writing...
Instead, this is what happened:
My sophomore year, I approached you to further myself. You let my dreams sit on your desk for months, without even glancing at them. I was crushed. After finally getting my unfinished manuscript back from you, I took it home and I burned it. I lost my passion for writing and I fell into a depression.
You grew more and more bitter towards me every year, for reasons I knew naught. I excelled in all of your classes, I was a good patient student who rarely spoke unless speaking was needed, I didn't cause trouble, I did my assignments, and I was intelligent! You had no reason to treat me like the dirt you did.
I came to a realization my Senior year, you only liked a specific handful of students. The same sarcastic cynical brats, who idolized you, yet turned around and talked poorly about you behind your back. They were the gossiping pricks who took your "special" classes and did you "special" favors. They were your minions, your babies, and you were their God.
I graduated, inviting you to my party because you made a point to say if you had a time and place, you would be sure to go to everyone's party... You never came. It only edged my bitter anger deeper. Why didn't you go to my party? You picked me, the one person who for no reason at all, you hated more than any other student... Me. Probably the best student you will ever have had... and you didn't go.
I went to your play, the next year, to say "Hi, how are you?" and when you saw me, the first thing you said, "You were never my favorite student."
What the hell was that supposed to mean? Why? What was the purpose of saying that to me?
I sat down, solemnly, gritting my teeth and fighting back the angry tears, my friend put me in his arms and said, "You know why he hates you, don't you?"
"No!" I cried out, the seething anger boiling and festering in my body.
"Because he was going to be an author, but his book sucked, so he was turned down. Now he's a bitter old man and no one likes him."
It hit me then. He was right. You are just a bitter man. You failed at your one dream, and I reminded you of yourself. An inspired filled young author, who knew where she was going and what she wanted to do. You wanted to kick the dirt off of your feet, but instead, you got stuck in the mud. You became a bitter High School teacher, so you could destroy the dreams of those after you.
You almost did it, you fucking bastard. You almost made me think I couldn't do it. I was about to take your road. I made jokes of taking your job even. I know, I would never be a good teacher... and you aren't a good teacher. You settled, and know this you raging pile of dog shit, I will not settle. I will become an author, because you failed. You did not dispirit me, you only made me stronger. If I can survive unnecessary scrutiny for four years, I can do anything.
You, old man, go on. Continue being bitter, continue being hateful towards your students, continue being the jerk you are... and know that you failed. I am going to be more successful than you could ever have imagined.
You gave up too easily. I hope you enjoy your the life you settled for, you bitter toad. To all the times you deliberately forgot I existed. To all of the down putting things you did to me. To everything you ever said to try and get under my skin or hurt my feelings, I give them all back to you now, you ugly fuck. I am going to become a renowned author, and you are going to continue being a penniless instructor for the school district.
Shame on you for trying to destroy a young girl's dreams.
Sincerely,
Jessica Dawn Tracy
P.S.
Fuck you. :)
Monday, October 19, 2009
Why do I stick it out?
Giving up has clearly never been a relevant option, but everyday you see people questioning their own self worth. I have to say, even I do it.
Now, I'll tell you why I *don't* give up.
I have a loving family, who knows my potential sometimes better than I do. I have people who look up to me, and ask me for life's answers on a daily basis. If I gave up, what would I be telling these people?
I have no potential? I can't do it? The only way out, is down?
No, I refuse.
I will become successful, because I have set such ridiculously high goals for myself, there is no way to not succeed at *something*.
I implore everyone to do the same. Don't give up on your life. Set goals that are so high, you will have no where to go, but up. Nothing to do, but get better. That is what I ask of all of my friends today. Best yourselves! Don't compete with humanity or life, compete with yourself. You'll find everyone wins that way. :)
Now, I'll tell you why I *don't* give up.
I have a loving family, who knows my potential sometimes better than I do. I have people who look up to me, and ask me for life's answers on a daily basis. If I gave up, what would I be telling these people?
I have no potential? I can't do it? The only way out, is down?
No, I refuse.
I will become successful, because I have set such ridiculously high goals for myself, there is no way to not succeed at *something*.
I implore everyone to do the same. Don't give up on your life. Set goals that are so high, you will have no where to go, but up. Nothing to do, but get better. That is what I ask of all of my friends today. Best yourselves! Don't compete with humanity or life, compete with yourself. You'll find everyone wins that way. :)
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
Cameron Hospital, you lethargic piece of shit!
I had an appointment for a CT Scan made for me about a month ago. Today was said scheduled appointment. Today, I walk in the doors at 6:55, and today I leave Cameron Hospital at 8:30...
In this time, I had to do MORE paperwork of sorts. Stamp my precious John Hancock on everything... and then, I am told to find the X-Ray room. Yeah, because I wander the hospital often enough to know where that is...
Anyway, after being lost and finding my way to stupid X-Ray and Laboratory, I am given the most horrid vile cream drink I have ever had the pleasure of ingesting. I literally had to plug my nose to keep from retching all over the waiting room. Not only did I get to drink one of these, but I got to drink TWO of them! Whole glasses full. A whole 16 ounces of what ever the fuck that was... sliding down my throat.
I swear I could feel the acidic sludge melting my organs away... or at least making them glow. Now, I understand how X-Rays work.
After an hour of sitting and waiting for the poison to make its way through my body, I am lead to a small room with an arc in it. I get to lay under the arc and wait while a woman undresses me, shit you not, and stabs my arm with an IV. (Hate those.)
In the "tube", hold breath, out the "tube", normal breathing. The nurse tells me to stretch my arm and let the fluid in the IV run in. It may do nothing to me, or it may make me feel warm.
Warm is a Goddamn understatement. My throat and chest were immediately engulfed in flames. My fingertips felt as if they would pop off.... and the worst of it all?! I felt as if I had pissed my own pants.
In and out the tube with "piss" in my pants.
Finish. IV is yanked out. I am told I have to wait "ten minutes" for the nurse to finish burning a CD for me. ?
30 minutes later, I get my CD and leave.
In this time, I had to do MORE paperwork of sorts. Stamp my precious John Hancock on everything... and then, I am told to find the X-Ray room. Yeah, because I wander the hospital often enough to know where that is...
Anyway, after being lost and finding my way to stupid X-Ray and Laboratory, I am given the most horrid vile cream drink I have ever had the pleasure of ingesting. I literally had to plug my nose to keep from retching all over the waiting room. Not only did I get to drink one of these, but I got to drink TWO of them! Whole glasses full. A whole 16 ounces of what ever the fuck that was... sliding down my throat.
I swear I could feel the acidic sludge melting my organs away... or at least making them glow. Now, I understand how X-Rays work.
After an hour of sitting and waiting for the poison to make its way through my body, I am lead to a small room with an arc in it. I get to lay under the arc and wait while a woman undresses me, shit you not, and stabs my arm with an IV. (Hate those.)
In the "tube", hold breath, out the "tube", normal breathing. The nurse tells me to stretch my arm and let the fluid in the IV run in. It may do nothing to me, or it may make me feel warm.
Warm is a Goddamn understatement. My throat and chest were immediately engulfed in flames. My fingertips felt as if they would pop off.... and the worst of it all?! I felt as if I had pissed my own pants.
In and out the tube with "piss" in my pants.
Finish. IV is yanked out. I am told I have to wait "ten minutes" for the nurse to finish burning a CD for me. ?
30 minutes later, I get my CD and leave.
Stories
If you, my avid reader, noticed a missing blog entitled Merry Christmas My Love, that is because I have moved it to my new blog spot.
I have decided to keep things organized for myself, I am going to maintain two blog spots: one for rants and vents, and the other for my stories and to-be-books.
I look forward to comments and what not on my "famous" works.
Oh, and for my Fang readers, I will be posting Fang in its entirety onto the new blog spot.
Here's a link for you lazy bastards: http://jezieneechan.blogspot.com/
Enjoy!
I have decided to keep things organized for myself, I am going to maintain two blog spots: one for rants and vents, and the other for my stories and to-be-books.
I look forward to comments and what not on my "famous" works.
Oh, and for my Fang readers, I will be posting Fang in its entirety onto the new blog spot.
Here's a link for you lazy bastards: http://jezieneechan.blogspot.com/
Enjoy!
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