Yucky Jobs of the Middle Ages

            Although all of the jobs from the middle ages just did not seem appealing, there was one that out shone the rest on just the amount of times I said “ew” while watching the video, that job was the leach collector. I find this job to have no good qualities at all. Leaches are disgusting organisms, which just give me the heeby jeebies when thinking about them. Thinking back to that time, their dress for this job probably wouldn’t be what it is like now. They most likely would not have weighters, or anything substantial to protect their legs. Just imagining the things that you would have to do for this job is what makes me think that it is the worst one of them all.

To Be or Not To Be translation

To be, or not to be: that is the question:

To live or die: that is the question:

Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer

Either to stay on this earth and suffer

The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,

And go through all he hard times

Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,

Or to find another way around them

And by opposing end them? To die: to sleep;

I could just end them, to die; to sleep

No more; and by a sleep to say we end

No more suffering, just death

The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks

The heartache and shocks

That flesh is heir to, 'tis a consummation

That is common with humans, it is a pity

Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep;

I truly wish. To die, to sleep

To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub;

To sleep: and perhaps to dream: that is the true question

For in that sleep of death what dreams may come

Because we dont know what comes after death

When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,

When we finally leave this earth,

Must give us pause: there's the respect

It takes us a moment to find the reason

That makes calamity of so long life;

That we continue on in our human forms

For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,

For who want to live out their lives with all their wrong doings and hardships,

The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,

The other thing that is wrong, the man too proud

The pangs of despised love, the law's delay,

The hurt of love gone bad, and having to follow the law

The insolence of office and the spurns

The stupiditiy of government and the peers 

That patient merit of the unworthy takes,

That awards those below you

When he himself might his quietus make

When he just wants to leave this world

With a bare bodkin? who would fardels bear,

By killing himself, who would dare

To grunt and sweat under a weary life,

To grunt and sweat under a tired life,

But that the dread of something after death,

But to fear what comes next

The undiscover'd country from whose bourn

That is unknown to all

No traveller returns, puzzles the will

No body comes back, it is all still questioned

And makes us rather bear those ills we have

And makes us show the wrongs we have done

Than fly to others that we know not of?

Rather than show those of the others

Thus conscience does make cowards of us all;

Thus conscience does make us all scared

And thus the native hue of resolution

And what courage really is 

Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,

Is looked at with all my thoughts,

And enterprises of great pith and moment

And projects with widely and greatly

With this regard their currents turn awry,

With this regard leave

And lose the name of action. - Soft you now!

And lose what they want to do. – Quiet now!

The fair Ophelia! Nymph, in thy orisons

My beautiful Ophelia! Lady, in your prayers

Be all my sins remember'd.

Remember my sins.

Poetry is hard

I sit in front of my computer screen.

The screen is blank, no words appear on it.

If I do not finish the task for seen,

My teacher says that I just might get hit.

I think and think but nothing comes to mind.

The screen stares back at me with not a word.

I could not find the words to say each line.

Its time I should just pray to the lord.

Right then the thought came into my bright mind,

I’ll write about how I cannot write this.

And as I finish this I finish this I will resign

From writing poems because this is no bliss.

I now know how hard poetry can be,

I will leave it to the poets with a degree.

Forever 21

I browse the racks searching for clothes
The place smells of new shoes and credit cards
All the mannequins are dressed so nicely 
The air tastes like stale crackers as the cashier checks someone out
Desire sounds like the beeps from the register
The dress draws me in closer as it quietly screams "Pick me!"

So Typical

            In Mary Carr’s “A Blessing from my Sixteen Years' Son” the mother is starting to come to terms with her quickly growing son. In most parent child relations, the parent realizes that one moment will most likely be the last time they will be able to do a certain thing with their child. In “A Blessing from my Sixteen Years’ Son” it was that the mother was able to tuck her son into bed for the last time, probably ever. My mother and I have gone through very similar things, maybe not with the tucking in, but with other last times. This year is especially full of those moments, with me going off to college next year. Just a few weeks ago my mother and I had one of these moments. Christmas time is full of family time, one of my mom and I’s favorite Christmas activity is decorating the tree. As we were decorating it this year though, we realized that it would probably be the last time we decorated it together for a while at least. Its moments like that and the one in “A Blessing from my Sixteen Years’ Son” that you realize how much your family truly means to you.

Take a Tour of "Wheels"

            As you look deeply into the poem “Wheels” by Jim Daniels you see that Daniels is speaking of his brother, and how he had pictures of all the cars he has had. He describes the picture and what is going on in it. At the end of the poem we read that there was no camera to save him, possibly indicating a terrible event. If you just glance at the poem you will notice that it has a lot of line breaks, making the poem very thin, all hugging the left margin. You will also notice that the author says each automobile by name. The last few lines of the poem are separated from the rest of the poem, also possibly indicating a life altering event.

Jorge the Church Janitor Finally Quits

"More than just that Guy that Cleans for You"

If I had to come up with a bumper sticker for Jorge it would say "More than just that Guy that Cleans for You", because he is sick of people just not even acknowledging  his presence. He is sick of getting categorized and judging into being this person that the only job they can get is the janitor position that he has. He says that no one will even notice he is not there any more after he quits. He does not want people to categorize him like the do to him now. He wishes that people did not act the way they did towards him, he knows they think that he is just a janitor and he cant really do anything else, but he wants people to see through that and see that he is more than just the person that cleans up after everybody.