The Brain Pyramid

Daily Prompt: Bloggers, Unplugged

I have two brains–not to brag. The computer-dominated-screen-time brain and the intellectual, read-a-book brain. Sometimes it’s hard. Sometimes I have to balance my brain power. But doesn’t everybody? Doesn’t everybody have two brains?

Say I’m writing an essay. Lots of words on a tiny screen. Tiny words. Sometimes I have to magnify the screen just to see if I spelled my name right. I need a break. I log onto Facebook.

Or vice versa. I’m on Facebook. Too much screen time. I’m watching a documentary. I’m watching Bob’s Burgers. I’m watching TV on Netflix. I’m on my Skype. I’m reading through an email. Too little brain action. My head begins to hurt.

So I try to balance.

Here’s my brain pyramid. Actually, it’s a dichotomy. Too many words versus too much screen-time. Find a balance. Eat your vegetables. Don’t forget the dairy. And goodbye!


Daily Prompt: On the Road

I’m still unsure of how to pause my chaotic college life and where I want to travel. I do know that I’m going to the city for a bit. So excited to return to my homeland (i.e. Carnegie Deli).  So thrilled to see my brother, my parents, my cousins, my grandparentals, and my aunt and uncle.

But it’s funny you mentioned it. I just got out of Hebrew class. We Google Earth-ed (if that is a verb) cities in Israel and learned Israeli slang that pertains to different regions and cities.

I’m starting to really enjoy the class. My only concern is whether to take Hebrew or Spanish next semester. Spanish isn’t something I want to lose because I’ve studied it for so long, and my Hebrew skills are far from where my Spanish is at. But I’m really enjoying my Hebrew class. Decisions, decisions. And if I study Hebrew , then who knows? Birthright?

I’m just thrilled to get off campus, to explore the city once again, to chow down some Kosher-style food, to go shopping, to see a musical or two.

“Gar” in Hebrew means to live. I’m excited to do some of that.

Enter at your own Risk

Daily Prompt: Clean House

Tell me about it.

There is definitely junk in my life! There is clutter. There are newspapers flying all around the room, folders seated in my bed, notebooks reclining in my chair. Give it back! I need to sit, too.

Makeup and chapstick and deodorant all dancing around the desk for some odd reason. Apple bags on the floor. A plastic Margarita glass flipped upside down. Sneakers on the ground. Pants on the ground. Oh yeah, and internal clutter!

Everyone’s life comes with clutter, whether you’re a neat freak or you’re me. There are people you don’t like. There are people you disdain. There is homework. There is scolding. There are reprimands and beasts and screechy chalkboards.

But then there is joy, and there is happiness.

I am content with my messy room. We are content with our messy lives.

I Assure You

Daily Prompt: Ebb and Flow

Prompt: Write a post for your blog–but three years in the future.

Greetings. Salutations. Hello. It’s me, from the future. Only three years have passed, but my how time’s gone by. I’m in London now, studying with a professor and a few friends, visiting museums, attending lectures, concerts, and Shakespearian tragedies. But life is great.

My vocab is better. My sentences stronger. My personality more bearable, if you can believe that.

Grades good, family fantastic. Everything is all right.

Currently I have a job as a consultant at the writing center on campus. Actually, current me is still wondering if that’s even possible or will be possible until I’m a grad student. Better ask my advisor about that one.

And in case you all were wondering, Shelly is better than ever!

Maybe we should catch up some time?

Best wishes!



Daily Prompt: A Bend in Time

My hectic Thursdays are by no means your hectic Thursdays or Tuesdays or Mondays. But this Thursday was a particularly stressful sea of excitement.

Ran two miles at 11. Showered at 12. Lost my key and ID somewhere in between.

Here’s how it played out: “Shelly wait, I don’t have my key,” I say to her as she left the dormitory.

“Sorry, I gotta go.” She was probably late for class or something. Understandable.

I couldn’t do anything about the situation now because I had two classes stacked right on top of each other like flapjacks. I stressed and fretted and had Shelly look around the room with me for the ID and key when she returned.  She even texted me during one of my breaks. Mind you, she texted me in Espanol: “No esta en tu mochila.” Great, it wasn’t in my bag from Mexico.

I returned to Academic Commons to find my T.A., who greeted me with a smile and said that he returned the ID and key to the front desk. Now I was off to concert band!

Then Shelly and I went to CVS and Subway. But the real excitement hadn’t happened until somewhere after 9:00. A friend of mine came running and screaming down the hall, her heart pounding with anticipation: “Guess what? Klaine is getting back together!”

Yes, my weekly excitement is the Glee update.

La Cucaracha

Daily Prompt: Celebrate Good Times

Normally, I celebrate with la cucaracha. Yes, I’m taking Spanish, or was taking Spanish, and I try to tie it in somewhere–anywhere, everywhere I can. You know, keep it up during my semester studying Hebrew?

Anyways, when I celebrate, I celebrate. Nobody’s implying mixed drinks. Nobody’s implying shots like crazy or work-hard-play-hard mentalities. Just a nice glass of cider. The non-alcoholic kind.

And that to me is a party.

The Mailroom

Daily Prompt: Snark Bombs, Away!

Don’t cry over spilled milk,” my mother always told me. That’s exactly what I did, do, and can’t stop doing.

And it was all because of a fucking mailbox.

“Hi,” I said, avoiding eye contact. Bertha is the typical eyesore to the boarding school freshman. Why she’s an eyesore has little to do with her appearance, although, if you really want to know, she has red hair tied back in a bun. She fashions herself in a hipster robe. And her breath smells like donkey.

Bertha does everything at this school. She’s the cook. She’s the mailroom assistant. She’s the advisor for Ecology Club. Not sure how that one fits, but maybe she likes trees.

“Hi,” I repeated. “I was wondering if you could help me open my mailbox. It doesn’t seem to be…”

She looked up. She looked down. But she didn’t look my way when she said, “Name.”

“I’m Alex.”

“Crappy name for a girl,” Bertha replied. “See this apple?” she asked in that raspy Bernadette Peters voice. She seized a robust looking Granny Smith that was hanging out of my JanSport bag and plopped it down onto the mailroom counter. This was no Snow White and the Seven Dwarves. It couldn’t be. “Where did you get this apple?” she inquired.

She was onto me.

I looked up, but her golden tooth flashed me. I could feel my throat constricting. A single tear made its grand entrance from my right eye.

What could I say?  I don’t go here? I’m really a transfer student? An international? An everything above?

Fighting the tears, I uttered, “The dining hall?”

“Yeeees,” she replied and laughed that cacophonous laugh they save for evil witches named Bertha in hipster robes with flowers on them.

“Could you possibly be able to help me open my mailbox? I have…tickets to see this performer, David Sedaris. Really funny guy–brilliant, actually. His show is tomorrow, and my mailbox is broken. Please, could you help me? It’s a VIP pass.”

“Oh, of course,” Bernadette Peters said calmly, “just as long as you look at the fucking apple!”

I looked around panoramically. The one time there’s no line for the mail.

David Sedaris…VIP …tomorrow…I’ll look at the fucking apple.

“Now,” she said, “I will open your mailbox for you if you do one thing for me. If you scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours.”  I’m not touching that back, I thought.

“Tell me,” she crackled through her red velvet lips. “Tell me why. Tell me why you steal apples from the dining hall!”

“Sorry,” I mumbled softly. “I didn’t think I was stealing. I’m on the unlimited meal plan, so I can basically have food like five times a day if I feel like it. Not like I would. But I could. And an apple is a great snack. You know, an apple a day keeps the doctor away?”

“Oh sweetie,” she grinned, grabbing my sweaty cheek as if I were an infant, “people shouldn’t get hungry.”

Could it be…was she? There she was. She was going to my mailbox. She was getting the mail! She returned. Victory is mine. Now I just have to say a secret password in some esoteric language that only the Mayans have deciphered or sing an opera or kiss her ass.

“A thief,” she began, this time with the ticket in hand, “is not a Very Important Person.”

Shredded in front of my eyes. Down the abyss. Down the machine. Forever lost. Hello, spilled milk. Goodbye, David Sedaris. Goodbye, happiness. And goodbye, Granny Smith. You never were a real grandma.

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