MrsEdge125
Search this weblog
RSS-Feed
For all categories
RSS-Feed
For all categories For all categories
Hello to anyone who happens to log on. I haven't checked this blog site since May--which is regrettable, but hey, I've been in baby land. I'd love to hear how your junior year is treating you.
Love and miss you all!
Mrs. Edge
REMINDER!
Blog Reflection and Self-assessment
(Due by Midnight 12/13)
This final 150-300 word blog should be a reflective and analytical writing about your blogging strengths, weaknesses, and progress this semester. Use the questions below as a guide. (Do not simply list your answers to these questions; rather use them as a guide to writing a thoughtful coherent extended paragraph.)
Today I was speeding down a familiar road, stressing over my list of things to do, and drooling over the idea of just forgetting everything in favor of a month long nap—you know, just going about my routine. And like many days, the radio blared a familiar song—Swithchfoot’s “Gone.” Today, though, I heard the lyrics differently. And I started thinking.
If I walked up to any old Joe Schmoe and asked, “Hey, do you think you’re immortal?” they’d either lift an eyebrow and advise me to take some Prozac or kind condescendingly pull their head back, both eyebrows raised and simply say “No.” Honestly if anyone actually admitted to thinking they were immortal, I’d probably offer them the Prozac—or a straightjacket or soemthing. But don’t we live like we are immortal? Don’t we waste our life with hundreds of tasks that don’t really matter? If we really thought that today, this day, would be the last, the very last—as in no waking up tomorrow—the last we’d ever see the sun rise, hold a loved one, or laugh, wouldn’t we live today a little differently? What would you do? Would you still watch TV? Still gossip? Still give someone grief that they may or may not deserve? Spend fifteen minutes grumbling? Sleep all afternoon? Who would you want to tell that they mattered to you and made a difference in your life? What impression would you want to leave behind on the surface of this world? See, the thing is, we don’t know if today is our last or not. So we can’t live rashly, nixing caution and responsibility, driving 120 mph, running red lights, or burning our textbooks in big bonfires. But we can live with purpose. We can choose to spend precious time on the things that really matter in life. We can do the thing we’ve always meant to do, or pick up the phone, or get up off the couch. We can live like we’re mortal.
How will you choose to live today?
Hello all. I'm loving your blogs so far! 
Here are just a few reminders though:
1. If you are tempted to delete your blogs, make sure that you don't delete your blogs writings before Sunday at midnight (pictures and songs are okay to delete whenever you want). I don't add up all your entries and comments until Sunday (even if I've already responded to them).
2. Remember to use whole (real) words, punctuation, etc. Although grammar and spelling mistakes don't count against you, we want the writing on this site to be somewhat sophisticated and therefore free of email shorthand and text message language.
Mrs. Edge
Night
Twisted, I turn again
to shift the weight—
my spirit shattered glass, and
my spine a tower of broken puzzle pieces.
Invisible hands
stretch my neck
until both it and I could snap.
Night was not meant to be spent in a chair.
Leaden legs
Tingle, teasing me with their sleep
The heavy curtains covering my eyes yearn to
Close
To be at rest
But my body refuses.
Night was not meant to be fought in a chair.
Time passes—
The clock ticks
Seconds
Tick into
Minutes
Tick into
hours
Tick
And still no rest.
Night was not meant to be battled in a chair.
I wait—
Slumped in a chair at her bedside
Offering prayers to plead
For her
To wake,
For her
To have one more day.
I watch—
Wanting to be her guardian angel;
She has been mine for years.
With the first smiles of sunlight
She wakes—
Out of an ethereal sleep,
She emerges, reaching
Through the bedrails.
With her thin fragile hand,
Skin like paper
Worn with years,
She touches me.
Darkness dispelled,
Her eyes light up brighter than
Any dawn could offer day.
She says my name.
“I’m glad you’re here.”
I wouldn’t be anywhere else.
I’ll wait with you
Another night,
Another day,
Forever—
Right here in this chair.