CM1145 #11 Literary Criticism

Day 1:We need to do a literary criticism, and I have no idea what I should do it on. I'd do it on a novel, but with finals approaching and a big research paper to start, I definately won't have time to re-read or review a novel properly. I thought about doing poems, but then I'd have to analyze, and poems are hard to analyze.

So I'm doing a short story. Now I need to find one. I was thinking it would be cool to do it on a Disney story, Aladin or Peter Pan, or maybe an alternate version of them. But I'm not sure how I could interpret them with one of the literary themes, never mind the fact that most of those books are written with a single sentence on a page. I found some interesting thing's while researching though, including short stories by people, just simply posted online on a short fiction blog.


Day 2:Over the weekend I found a story to write it on. The Little Mermaid, the original, not the sweet, happy ending Disney interpretation. It is written by Hans Christian Andersen, and the original name is Den lille Havfrue (not English, it's been translated.) It's very interesting, and of the seven R-rated original Disney stories I found, it seems to be the least gruesome. I'll post a link to both "The Little Mermaid" and the website listing all seven R-rated Disney stories at the end of this blog.

Believe me, it's not the story we all know and love- Flounder isn't even mentioned!

Day Three:
Well, since blogs are due tomorrow, I'll just wrap this one up. The project so far is extremely difficult. I've gotten as far as writing the summary (the second paragraph) but I have no idea what to write the other six paragraphs on! I have all the feminist related parts marked in the story, but I do not know how to relate the story to feminism in an essay. Well, wish me luck!

PS. I have no idea how many comments I have done.... I may end up randomly commenting on blogs.

Cm1145 #10- My opinion on writing

I can write a blog on this right? It is technically a writing course, whether I am talking about argumentative writing or not, it should still count, shouldn't it?

I read Still Alice- Lisa Genova (totally course related!), which is the first book I've read, probably in three years, that wasn't for school. (Okay well technically it was, but I got to pick the book which makes it so much better!) Ever since I read it I feel like my old self is coming back. I went to Walmart for something to do, and ended up leaving with four novels (Left Neglected -Lisa Genova and all three Hunger Games books. Which was my other choice for the book review, but I couldn't buy it on my iPhone and I was afraid it wouldn't be available at Walmart at the time.) While shopping for books I picked these four out of probably a possible 15 that I had picked out. I only picked them because Lisa Genova is my new discovered love (Sorry Lisa, you will never take Stephen King's place in my heart, but you were pretty close!) and I heard The Hunger Games is pretty amazing from a fellow CM1145 blogger.

Anyway I'm getting slightly off topic. My point is, my old self is returning, starting with the tall pile of thick unread novels, which will consume hours of my time, exercise my mind, and improve my writing skill. As I believe I stated in a blog from CM1120, I was always the girl who sat at her desk at recess lost in a book. At the time it wasn't to exercise my mind, or improve my writing skill (I had none at the time) or to prove I was smart. It was to hide myself, befriend the characters, and feel like I belonged. (Yes, I felt like I belonged in the books with my pretend character friends.) So, because I was such an active reader at such a young age (I taught myself how to read English at age six, because they refused to teach us French Immersion kids until we were eight) I soon found myself able to transform it into writing myself. Thinking back I've probably started six books, filled out a 120 page notebook in delicately written plots and chapters, outlined characters, expressed my own life as a character in a story, etc. (Oh what I wouldn't give to have one of those notebooks to read today!) I've never completed one of these "books". As soon as someone would as about it, I would immediately say "NOTHING" and as soon as they weren't looking I ripped it up and threw it away. I distinctly recall keeping a very personal journal when I was thirteen, and I was going away for summer and ripped it up into the tiniest pieces, I am not joking I made sure not a single word was readable on the scraps of paper, and tossed it, afraid of someone scavenging my room and reading it. Needless to say my "very personal journal held information such as "today I decided I have a crush on such and such" or "I can't believe a car splashed me when I was walking home today!" That is how self conscious I once was of my writing, and how hidden I once was. As you can see because I hid myself so much, my thoughts and ideas were something extremely personal, I refused to let anybody read a "true" work of mine. Hours and hours of writing just thrown out...

Back to my original topic again (why do I keep giving you all my life story...) I can feel my fingers twitching, and my brain wondering. I was sitting down eating spaghetti, and all of a sudden my mind begins to think about space. Space cannot just be forever going on. We are totally some messed up science experiment in another realm or something. Maybe we are like the Who's on that cotton ball the elephant (Horton?) and we are just floating around in some bigger more advanced life. So, getting away from my crazy thoughts, I began to create this world just outside of the most outer layer of space in my mind, where some human's in a ship such as "Star Trek" would end up finding and discovering what we actually are and what our fate truly is, etc. Creativity! Hoorah! Needless to say, I felt an itch to write a story. I haven't felt that in years, and the only difference now is that I'm not afraid to let people read it. No one ever got anywhere in something they love my hiding in their closet!

So, that is my very random rant on writing. (By the way, I believe this feeling returned after I bought the books and began to read them. Thanks CM1145!!)

[CM1145 #9] The reason I did not do my research paper over the reading break

Okay, so since day one of the semester I said, "I have the perfect plan! A full week of doing nothing, I can totally spend an hour a day and get almost my entire research paper done! I won't be stuck the last week hating myself for not doing it sooner!" Yeah, guess what. We now have, what, three weeks of school left? Maybe a bit left? The most I've done towards my reasearch paper is pick an idea and think of the basic story line. But I will start it tomorrow! [Sarcastic point of my procrastination.]

So basically up until maybe two days before the reading break my plan was set and stone. I had picked out what to research and when. "Day one, research the life of a black slave. Day two, research the life of a black slave owner. Day three, research their relationship." (My paper is a researched short story on the life of a slave in America.) So, anyway, the reading break started.

Day one: Get out of school at 2:30, go to work at 5:00. Productivity equals zero.
Day two: Wake up and do probably nothing, I don't remember, then work from 3:00 to 10:00. Productivity equals zero.
Day three: Wake up and begin preparing for a fun night of movies! Get six Gerard Butler films (including his best works Phantom of the Opera and P.S. I Love You obviously.) Pick up Rebecca, and go to Wal-mart. Buy junk food. Go to Subway. Buy partially healthy food. Find Kenzie. Watch movies all night while doing hair and nails. Get to sleep at 6:00am. Wake up to a very rude banging on the door (I mean common, we have a door bell missy) at 10:00am. Eat food. Go to Walmart. Chill for the rest of the day feeling dead and re-watching Phantom of the Opera, because on four hours of sleep, I don't think many brains function properly. Mine definitely does not.
Day four: Wake up still feeling very tired (I try to wake up around 9 or 10 on days like today to try and fix my sleeping schedule). I still felt pretty tired (It's Tuesday by now) so I watch a couple of the Gerard Butler movies that I had that we didn't get a chance to watch the previous night. Wasted another day, but feeling less tired. Go to sleep at 10:00pm.
Day five: Realize it is already Wednesday. Study for the physics I have on Monday. Do one hour of my math assignment. Do half hour of Chemistry homework.
Day six: Study physics, all day.
Day seven: Study physics until 5:00. Go to work.
Day eight: Study a lot of physics. Realize I also have an essay due Monday. Do pretty much entire essay. Return to studying physics, and a touch of Chemistry, because I have a test on Wednesday.
Day nine: Work 9:30am to 6:00pm. Get home, write conclusion for essay and edit it. Study biology for about an hour (I have a test on Thursday) then study Physics for the rest of the night.
School was resumed the next day.

So needless to say, I did not even start my research paper, because I had an extremely busy week following the break. I socialized a whole two days of the week long break. University life is so depressing. (Unless you're super cool and party every night than Sunday realize you didn't finish your essay and didn't study for any of your tests. Seriously, who has time to party? I would of probably had to be admitted to the Waterford if I did that.)

Anyways, moral of the story, work hard, still don't get your work done. University is hard. Gonna  have to live with it. I will not regret it in five years.

[CM1145 #8] Things you find on the internet while researching.

We are currently writing a causal argument, I am writing mine on the effects of vegetarianism on a human body. Naturally, being a vegetarian for three years, it makes it easier for me to pick out the information that is true, and the information that is people not knowing what they are talking about.

One post I stumbled upon was a 28 year old male, who after eight years is deciding to give up vegetarianism. He wrote an essay on his reasoning. He implies it's because he's "bullied" in a way. (Honestly I think that's kind of weak,who cares if people are telling you they love meat? Get over it and eat some lettuce.) Anyway, I've reworded one of his statements (very slightly) and this is his opinion.

"Telling a vegetarian you would never be able to give up meat is like telling the only black person at a party that you have black friends."

I'd like to ask, how on Earth are those two even related. I can see where he's coming from, if he finds himself insecure over the way people see him, but honestly, people say they would never be able to give up meat all the time. I do not care, they love meat, I love veggies. Woohoo for love of different things.


Also, on a side note, I bought "Left Neglected" by Lisa Genova, and although I do not have the time, and I said I was waiting until after exams to read again, I've read a little past the first chapter. (Anyone who knows me that having the time to read a chapter in a book at my own leisure is about equivalent to lady bugs and butterflies killing us all.) In order to get this free time, I once again put off my research paper, which I was supposed to do over the Reading break, but thats another story, for another blog.

CM 1145 #7

So, it's day two of reading break, and I am waiting for my friend to be ready to be picked up. I am kind of bored, and feel kind of creative, so I'm going to look through our "The Practical Guide To Writing" book and see if it has anything interesting I can write about, that way it will in fact be related to the course.

Page 237. I didn't even read the whole thing, I just saw the poem splatted into the middle of an essay and read the first two lines. I think the essay is about an advertisement or something, but here's the poem. (I think it's a poem anyway.)

My butt is big
And round like the letter C
And ten thousand lunges
Have made it rounder
But not smaller
And that's just fine.
It's a space heater
For my side of the bed
It's my ambassador
To those who walk behind me
It's a border collie
That herds skinny women
Away from the best deals
At clothing sales.
My butt is big
And that's just fine
And those who might scorn it
Are invited to kiss it.
Just do it.

"It has t be said: The ad kicks ass."

This honestly made me lmao (laugh my ass of, pardon the pun.) For one thing, it is a horrible poem (in my opinion), but congrats to whomever wrote it. I am proud of them for picking out the good things in having a big butt. I don't think I've honestly read anything like this in an academic book, but we all know one time or another, you're going to slip through a book and just land on the one page with something that just brightens your day. A poem about someone who thinks their butt is big. For all we know, the person may not even have a big butt, maybe they're self conscious, which is why they told people who "scorn it" to kiss it. Anyway, I have to say this poem really did put me in a better mood, and I'm sure the rest of my evening will reflect on it. That's all I have to say about that. Off to my supper date! Hope whoever reads this enjoyed the poem (?) as much as I did!

Compare and Contrast (CM1145 #6)

In class the other day we learned about compare and contrast (surprise, surprise). No matter how far away we get from high school I don't think we'll ever escape writing the most tedious essay ever invented.
Here are some interesting compare and contrast titles I found online:
Weeds to flowers
Being a Snob to being a Nerd
Wandering a desert to drifting the ocean
Making an apple pie to making a mud pie
The three bears to the three little pigs
Being a teen to being a toddler
A female friend to a male friend

These topics were the ones that interested me the most out of a list of fifty. I think I could make a good argument for each of the topics and probably a good essay. I'm going to briefly compare some of the topics in a non-formal style.

Weeds to Flowers
Whoever said that weeds were worthless, you don't NEED to weed your garden. Personally, I think a lawn covered in bright yellow dandelions and thick green grass is way more beautiful than a tiny patch of daisies and lilies. Just because you don't pay for them, and they come when you don't want them too, doesn't mean they aren't flowers. They are trying to live, and are killed daily by lawn mowers and weed whackers. They just want the wind to take their seeds and fertilize and live on as a species. This is why weeds take over. The more they reproduce, the better their chance of survival against human weed haters. Imagine a beautiful garden, filled with red roses, and pink lilies, and daffodils. There is always patches between the flowers where you can only see the brown dirt below them. If we didn't hate on weeds, and let them grow, this dirty brown patch could be filled with the luminous bright yellow of dandelions, and the flowers lined with thick green leaves. I, personally, would feel this is much more beautiful, more natural. In a rain forest, the animals do not pick the weeds around the flowers, the beauty of a rain forest is in the natural look of weeds, flowers and trees grown in among one another. Together, in unity.



Wandering the desert to drifting the ocean
Wandering the desert-no water to be found, and dieing of thirst. Drifting the ocean-surrounded by water, but yet, still dieing of thirst. You could think of these two topics as two completely different stories. Wandering the desert, beads of sweat dripping off your body as the hot sun beats down on you like the fist of a wrestler. Mirages telling you that a pool of fresh water lies ahead, yet after you run to get there, there is no water, and you've wasted energy and sweat off more fluids, leaving you closer to a painful death. The nights in a desert are painstakingly cold. You ditched your heavy clothes miles back, and you're now debating in your mind how death will find you. Will you freeze to death before the stabbing thirst makes you're body dry into dust? How about drifting the ocean. You're laying on your back, feeling the waves drift over you calmly, you wonder if at any moment will a vicious sea animal will use your helpless body for a meal. You've been floating since your ship wrecked in the middle of the ocean, and you just hope to hit land soon. Your stomach is growling but that is the least of your worries, as you haven't had a drink in hours, and the although your drifting in water, you can't drink it. The salt will only make you thirstier, draining your body of what fluids it has left. Night comes and you're about ready to give up, not knowing how much longer you can paddle, and role over and float on your back, you wonder if you will last when the last of the sun sets. Then it happens, roaring waves and strong winds, pounding rains tear and thrust your body. You fight to stay afloat, but you can't help to wonder, if this storm will take your life, before the thirst does.


Making an Apple Pie to making a mud pie
Apple pie, the sweet sugary scent as it sits on the window ledge to cool, the crisp marks of a fork in the top of the slightly golden crust. The children in the window, hopeing to snag a piece before the mister gets home. What could be better? A big glob of slimy mud, crawling with worm and beetle filling, slopped down on your front porch. "Could you care for a piece ma'am? You always share you apple pie." Mud pies are very complicated to make. You must collect the finest mud, the perfect dogberries to top it with, and you need to hunt for all the creepy crawly insects for the filling. If you're lucky you will even fine the perfect leaf to make it look professional. Making apple pie can not be compared to what a child goes through to make the perfect mud pie. For apple pie you simply need to go to the market, get your ingredients, follow a recipe and wait. Where as every mud pie is unique. Different muds, different insects, different ingredients and recipes. It depends on who you are, and the season. Fall and spring are the perfect times to make mud pies. The mud is moist enough to collect in a bucket, not to dry, and not frozen, and the insects are usually crawling around trying to prepare for winter, or prepare to breed. Flowers and berries are usually ready to pick, and the leaves are either an auray of colours, or in a perfect little roll. Winter is also an interesting time to make mud pie. If you dig down deep enough you can find a nice moist mud to use for the crust. Bugs are obviously scarce, so instead of a creepy crawly filling, you can use snow, a frozen treat! Whether you're out in the cold, or splashing in puddles, mud pies are definately a much more productive passtime than making an apple pie, anyday!

Book Review (CM1145 #5)

February 2nd, 2012
We need to do a book review for our writing class, and quite honestly, I have no idea what to expect out of this project. I've never even considered writing a book review before, movie reviews yes, I suppose it will be similar? I'm really excited though, I picked the book "Still Alice" by Lisa Genova, and just from reading the description I cannot wait to read it! It's about a fifty year old woman who studied neuroscience psychology, and throughout the book, you get the follow her life as she lives through Alzheimer's! It's already got me hooked. I've started reading the first chapter, it's slightly dull for now, but most introductions are, as they introduce the characters, the story plot, the theme, etc. I can't wait to get more into details about her life and hopefully learn more about the disease. I think it will be interesting to read a story in the eyes of someone who's suffering from it rather than the usual story in the views of a family member or friend.

February 9, 2012
So I've gotten a little farther through the book. I am really enjoying it, so far she still has no clue she has Alzheimer's, but she's suspecting things! She thinks she may have a brain tumor! Reading through Alice's life makes me feel so bad for people with Alzheimer's. She completely forgets where she is and how to get home, she blanks out in the middle of speeches, and she forgot to go to the airport one time! Although it makes me feel complete pity for the people who are experiencing this horrible desease, it also terrifies me. Alzheimer's run's in my family in several different branches. Two of my great-grandparent's died from it. Reading what Alice is experiencing as this time in her life terrifies me to know that she has this deciese but has no idea that she has it. Hopefully she finds out soon and begins a treatment of some sort to slow it down. (Does that exist? I'm fairly certain it does.)

February 12, 2012
Wow. I am currently reading the chapter "July 2004" and the book starts at "September 2003". Page 414 out of 862 on a small iPhone screen. That's 48% done the book, and all I can say is wow. I am so extremely grateful that a book review is one of the required projects in CM1145, because otherwise I never would have  opened my eyes to such an incredible book. I literally just spent the last two hours reading, and I am starting to feel like I know the characters well enough to say that this family is in for a really bumpy road. Alice has finally been diagnosed with Alzheimer's disease and has started treatment. Her husband is traumatized and can  barely look at her, and one out of three of her children have been diagnosed with the gene which causes Alzheimer's aswell, while one of them has never been tested. I can't wait to finish the book and find out how poor Alice will end, clueless in an old folk's home, or dead from her suicidal thoughts. It's such a beautiful story, in such a horrifying manner. I would definitely recommend ANYBODY to read this book. So far it is definitely a 10/10 read.

February 17, 2012
This book is incredible. I can't get through a chapter without shedding a tear. I have a class now to work on one of my three projects: Book review, blog, or final research paper. Since the book review is due next Thursday, I am going to continue to read my book. I am in love. I think that after school this summer I am going to buy Lisa Genova's other books and read them, along with re-reading Duma Key by Stephen King if my friend ever gives it back (After three years). On to reading!

February 19, 2012.
I officially finished reading the book. All I can say, yet again, is WOW. What a heart breaking story, I felt pulled into the book, into Alice's life. With the book being written in Alice's point of view, I felt like I was actually in her head, seeing Alzheimer's in her eyes. So many tears were shed (yes, books make me cry. Surprisingly though, movie's do not. Guess I've always been a book worm at heart.) Along with the tears, I felt so much for Alice. Anger at what she's going through and how people begin to treat her, sorrow for her condition and how much she lost, happiness for all the times she felt like she belonging, pity when she tries to kill herself but forgets what she's doing, and so much more. The way the book ended broke my heart. The final chapter of Alice's life made my heart sink into my stomach and my eyes swelled with tears. I can definitely write and excellent book report on this novel, my only worry is containing it to 1200 words or less?! How is that even possible for such an incredible piece of writing! If I can do this and make it as amazing as the book was, than I am willing to be extremely arrogant and say that I am an incredible book report writer. There is no comparing to what this book made me feel, I have never read anything like it (Except Duma Key-Stephen King, which I have probably noted above a time or two.) In all seriousness though, I really hope to do well on this project, because reading that book took a lot of my time (worthwhile anyway, I would have never read the book otherwise and would have missed out on a lot) and I am extremely wordy and doubt I can accurately describe the book in 1200 words or less. (I have seriously just wrote five paragraphs about the book and how it made me feel, writing the academic version would be longer if I was able to do so.) Well wish me luck! On to the writing!!!!

Colabrorative Writing [CM 1145 #4]

In CM1145 we've began to do a collabrative essay, there are four people in my group. Although this assignment has proven to be kind of fun, I'm not entirely sure if I like it or not.

Each and every person has their own individual writing techniques. To ask a group of students to write an essay together seems like a kind of funny project when you take this into consideration. A person per paragraph and collbarative and individual editing will never combine the essay to perfection. If you read the essay not for its content but its grammar and writing styles, it would probably sound rather funny.

I am doing the final edit of our first draft, and I can't wait to read the essay. I am excited to see what my colleges have come up with in terms of content, but I also want to see the differences in each paragraph. I am excited to see if we can make the writing flow with all our different writing styles, and I want to see if we can make it sound like a single person wrote the essay.

This project along with all the other's we've done in this course greatly impacted how I felt about writing courses. In high school we were only offered one writing course, and although I liked it, it was like a completely different program. In the previous English course I took we did only a few big assignments, maybe three or four. These included a movie review, a "publication booklet", and a couple others. We were also required to fill out a journal. We were required to do I think two pages a week, and we were given topics to write on. We were required to pick one topic from a sheet (topics such as "If I had a million dollars" or "What I would do if I was president") and at least one, sometimes three or four, opinionated journals on the news. We were required to write on news stories the teacher found interesting (weither you knew about it or not.) I took the course during the year president Obama was elected. Nearly every entry we wrote was about Obama. Before that course I didn't even know who the man was (Mostly because I could care less about politics).

My point is, although I enjoyed the course, I have a completely new perspective on what writing is really about. Having the freedom of writing our journal/blog on ANY topic we want (not overly used "what if" topics and news topics), and actually being able to express my creativity in my essays really opened my eyes to the English language. I find that this course has already give me a whole new perspective, and I feel as though by the end of it my writing experience will be greating changed.

Rock [CM1145 #3] (Far to near, near to far method)

The sun slowly rises and a humid wind blows the rustling leaves of an old maple tree. A squirrel runs down the length of the trunk chasing a monarch butterfly. The butterfly flutters away from the tree and floats calmly in the wind. Below the graceful butterfly sits a pouty beagle. The plump, lazy dog sits pathetically on the side of the road waiting for someone to acknowledge his presence. He stands and begins to walk across the street towards his home. As he crosses the street, a car nearly hits him and he trips over a rock.

The rock is a pale lavender, with a hint of a sparkle. It landed with a hard thud, and bounced across the sidewalk until it stopped on the side of the street. It fell from directly over head, between the roofs of two apartment buildings. Through the clouds and beyond the gloomy shine of the moon. Beyond Mars and the rings of Saturn, through the boundries of the Milky Way. It launched at a speed greater than the speed of sound from the sling shot of a tiny green boy.

The boy lived on the planet Lavender in the galaxy Aquatamalia, where all the little green people live in harmony. Aquatamalia is one of the largest galaxies in the Universe, only about 4.5 billion light years away from The Milky Way. The Universe which is filled with millions of different Galaxies, trillions of planets, and an infinite amount of stars.

Meteor's travel through these unknown boundaries of space, and for all we know, they could have started as simply as the lavender rock launched by the tiny green boy on the planet lavender.



A note to the reader: Do not write blog entries while hyped up on sugar in await of a three hour Biology lab.

Emotional Appeal (CM1145) #2

Well when I woke up this mornin',
There was a note upon my door,
Said don't make me no coffee Babe,
'cause I won't be back no more,
And that's all she wrote, Dear John,
I've sent your saddle home. - Hank Williams, Dear John


"I love you, good night."

Those are the last words she said to me. It's been three days. As I sit here in the dark on my couch, in my empty house, alone, I can not help but think, where did I go wrong? We were so happy, we spent every evening and every weekend together. As I sit here, with the little purple envelope on my lap, I reminisce on our happy time. I brought her out for supper every Saturday night, and to an activity of her choice on Friday night. We had couples game nights on Tuesdays, now I can't go, I can't go alone. I'm alone.


I woke up at 4am on Sunday night cold, there was no one by my side.

"Babe? Val? Valerie??"


I got out of bed and checked the bathroom, the door was open, that's when I noticed. The shower curtain was gone, and so were the mats off the floor, and pictures off the walls. Panic and worry filled my throat and the pit of my stomach. Had we been robbed? Has Valerie been kidnapped? How could I possibly sleep through something this big? (I am a very heavy sleeper.)


"Who's there! Valerie! Val, are you okay?!"


No response. I ran to my room and grabbed the receiver of my telephone. About to dial 911, I noticed the room was cleaner than it had been earlier that night. Not clean in an "I've been robbed, they took all my stuff" way, clean in a "something is completely wrong" way. The drawers of the dresser were torn open and emptied. A single pair of red panties left, half under the bed on the floor. Her favorite stuffed animal was missing off the shelf, the one I had won her at the carnival on our first date, ten years prior. Her engagement ring was left in the box on the table by my side of the bed, with a little purple envelope neatly tucked underneath. I slowly hung up the receiver and walked over the the little purple envelope and simply stared.


Here I am, sitting on my couch, in my dark empty house, notice I did not say home, because without her it is not a home. I am alone. The small purple envelope, addressed to myself from Valerie set in my lap, unopened. All her possessions have been taken, all our stuff is gone. She left me, I can't believe she would leave me, I love her so much. She is my life. I wonder if the envelope contains a phone number, or an address. I need to contact her, I need to know why she left. I'm twenty-eight, she's twenty-six, we've been together for ten years. We love each other. I sigh and turn the little purple envelope around, and I prepare myself to open it. I haven't slept, and I am not prepared to read what is written in deep purple ink across the pages, yellowed with age.


"I love you sweetheart. Don't you ever forget how heavy my heart is for you, no matter how bad it gets. I didn't want to leave you, you told me you would understand, and that you would love me forever. I know you are reading this letter, written in my favorite purple pen, wondering what the hell I am trying to tell you. I know you don't remember."


I don't understand, what does she mean I told her I would understand? Of course I don't remember? Was I drunk?!


"As I sit here on my deathbed writing this, I hope you will forgive me for leaving. I love you with all my heart sweety, forgive me."


Deathbed. . . and I passed out.


I was thrown out of my deep sleep at the sudden "bang bang bang" of the door. The small purple envelope on the floor by my feet, the purple inked letter laying in front of my face. I slowly got to my feet, wondering why I had slept on the floor last night. Why didn't Valerie wake me up? Was I drinking? My head is awfully sore. I inch my way towards the door.


"Good morning Dad, rough night, huh?"


Who was this stranger at my door calling me Dad? The only son I know of having is six years old, asleep in his bed upstairs. I'm only 34, it's impossible for me to have a son his age, he has to be in his fifties.


"I'm sorry Sir, I don't understand why you are calling me "Dad" you have to be at least twenty-years older then me."


"Dad, it's time to go, they say you ran away again. I figured you came here."


"Sir, I have no idea what you are talking about! I am not your father, my son Jacob is upstairs asleep, he's only six years old!"


At that I slammed the door, locked it, and stormed back into my living room. Now back to the real question of the morning, what is this small purple envelope I woke up to this morning?


I picked up the envelope, completely ignoring the letter, written in dark purple ink. I looked inside, and saw some photographs. There is what seems to be a family portrait, a small boy, about six-he looks just like Jacob, maybe it was me as a child. I then look up at the parents in the Polaroid photograph.


The door opens and I look up at the man standing on my doorstep.


"You have your mother's eyes Jacob. Bring me back to the home."