Sans Verbs and Adverbs.

Teresa woke up next to her husband. She sat up, stretched, and tip-toed to the bathroom to take a shower to begin getting ready for her day at work. She wore no makeup other than lipstick; she did not need foundation, blush, or eyeshadow. Teresa took care of herself and carried a mirror to check for imperfections. She leaned against the wall to assess her priorities for the day. Her head did not reach the top of the doorway, but she liked her height. She put her phone in her purse, greeted her children, and ventured out to make money behind paperwork.




Erin’s hair appeared the length of a horsetail but resembled silk to the touch. Her skin shimmered in the sunlight with freckles that mimicked Shirley Temple. She had the heart of a lion and the bravery of a cat. Erin’s laugh resembled that of a hyena with the volume of a train-wreck. She had the drive of a Mercedes and her creativity sparked imaginations.




This was tough. I thought it was impossible at first, but it began to make more sense as I worked through it. It really made me think, and I enjoyed the challenge. It's definitely something that takes some thought and one cannot rush through it if he or she wants to do it right.

I got really tired by the time I hit my second description, and I know I could have done better if I had applied myself more.

Iraqi Women

Prior to reading anything out of Baghdad Burning, I had a completely different vision in my mind as to what the women looked like, how they lived, and how they were treated in society.

I pictured dirt roads and abandoned area, similar to a desert. I sensed immense heat and dry air. I imagined beige tarps stained with dirt and thinned with age draped over wooden posts to shelter them. I pictured some residing in weak, unstable, dry-rotted shacks.

In my mind, the women wore a long skirt, long sleeves, and a hood that covered the face, all in the color black. They were quiet, they neither speak nor leave their residence. They were not allowed to work.


According to River, I most defintely had false assumptions. The scarf covering the face is optional, and only by personal preference. They make up at least half of the work force, this being less now that the war is in progress.

They live in normal houses on streets in cities. They have electricity and running water. Obviously, some even have computers and the internet.

I was genuinely shocked, and it's hard to shake the previously assumed living conditions from my mind when I hear the words "Iraqi women" or Baghdad is mentioned.

Baghdad Burning: Vivid Details (Pages 21-39)

On page 21, River descibes how the people roamed the streets. She said, "You can see perplexity and anger in their stance, their walk, their whole demeanor. Their eyes shift from face to face, loking for a clue." This gives a much better picture in my mind than a simple, "They walked around for work." With that, I'd picture a bunch of Iraqis with "Will work for food" signs strung around their necks.

As I read, I highlighted many sections of the book where I found lots of detail and vivid desciptions of environments and events. Some examples of these are as follows:

"Everyday, I would climb three flights of stairs, enter the little office I share with one female colleague and two males, start up my PC and spend hours staring at little numbers and letters rolling across the screen." (Page 22)

"At 8 a.m. I'd walk in lugging a backpack filled with enough CDs, floppies, notebooks, chewed-on pens, paperclips and screwdrivers to make Bill Gates proud." (Page 22)

"The maroon carpet lining the hallways was dingy, scuffed and spoke of the burden of a thousand rushing feet." (Page 23)

"The lights were shattered, desks overturned, doors kicked in, and clocks torn from the walls." (Page 23)

"It was a day of shocked, horrified relatives, with dilated pupils and trembling lips, dragging duffel bags, spouses and terrified children needing shelter." (Page 29)

The most desciptive section I found was, "He sat stiff, in a suit that was a shade of brown similar to that of caked, dry mustard. He wore a white shirt, a black, yellow-striped tie and fluorescent yellow handkerchief with charming black spots. His hair was greased back with something or another to show a broad, furrowed brow over tiny, hard eyes. He did not look like he was on some political talk show--he looked like he was being persecuted." (Page 32)

There was also quite a bit of detail at the very beginning of "The Promise and the Threat" starting on page 34. She gives great visuals when comparing and contrasting the myth and truth of the Iraqi people.



My overall reaction to the assigned reading: I had a hard time following parts of this and found myself feeling overwhelmed and frustrated when she started getting into detail and describing each of the "presidents" they have. I don't even understand or know anything about American politics. I was not about to try and understand the ins, outs, and abouts of Iraqi politics.

Overall, I really like her style. She is very casual and gives great descriptions which help make it easier to read, understand, and enjoy.

(Paper 1, First draft) A Point of Change

"Today is the first day of the rest of your life," I thought, as I shaded my eyes from the sun, flicked my tassel out of the way, and searched across the jam-packed stands looking for a familiar face. There's one. There's two. No, more. My family was cheering me on. I could hear it in my mother's voice as she talked to me before we left for the stadium, and I can see it in all of their faces now. This wasn't just an ordinary day. This wasn't an ordinary day at all. From that moment on, I would be thrown into an entirely different direction. A direction complete with different rules, different responsibilities, and endless possibilities. I was free.

(The grades were in, the diplomas had been printed, and my shackles had been unhinged. As I walked toward the stage, it felt as if my feet hardly touched the ground. Mandatory schooling was over. I knew from then on that the rest of my life rested in my own hands. I took a deep breath of independence soaked in achievement while glancing up at my tassel. The golden "2004" sparkled in the sunlight and the maroon and white threads danced in the breeze. At that moment, I closed the door to high school, teenage drama, and proms. From that moment on, every choice was mine. I was finally on my own. Freedom. Nothing made me feel more alive.)

Beginning when I was a little girl, I had always been shy and quiet around those I did not know and over-excitable around my closest friends. I would do the most off-the-wall stunts just to get a laugh. They had always referred to me as their funniest friend. I was neither the most popular student nor the least popular. I never fit into a stereotype and I was perfectly content with that. I wore what I liked, got involved in the clubs and organizations that appealed to me, and I never thought twice about it. Elementary school was all about having fun.

During this time, my parents separated and eventually divorced by the time I reached the fifth grade. My mother thought it would be best to finish raising my brothers and I in a quiet town in central Pennsylvania. I was nervous about leaving the familiarity of my home state, school, friends, and most of my family. But at the same time, I was exuberant. I had always been open to meeting new people and exploring new environments. This was my chance to start all over again, paint my future. A new life, a blank canvas, was sprawled out before me.

It was a chilly October in 1996. We marked our boxes and loaded our belongings, our past, into the moving truck. I felt a sick feeling brewing in the pit of my stomach as I watched my old house get smaller and smaller as we headed north. There was no turning back; the damage was done. It was a long drive in a shaky, loud and creaky U-Haul. Maybe this was a mistake, I thought. The doubts haunted me. Why did I agree to this? I had so many thoughts in my mind; I could hardly concentrate.

The first day of school snuck up fast. I felt uneasy about interrupting the school year. I was afraid that the “groups” had already formed and I would be nothing more than an outcast. But I was genuinely surprised by how welcomed I was by the students and staff. All of the girls crowded around me during our bathroom break and I made several friends right off the bat. However, it didn’t take long for me to slip back into my habitual shyness. I couldn’t change who I was and I accepted that.

As the years rolled on and I moved further up the food chain, I became slightly more outgoing and social and less of a wallflower. By the time high school snuck up on me, I took one last stab at changing my attitude. I didn’t care who my friends were or what people thought. Why should I?

For whatever reason, by the time I reached my senior year, I had become exhausted with school. I lost nearly complete interest, and I was absent quite a bit. My grades began to suffer and my likeliness of receiving a document for the completion of high school was shrinking by the day. In fear that I would have to repeat my final year of school, I pulled things together enough to get me to that stage.

It was then June of 2004. I was running late. 600 of my fellow classmates and an entire half of our football stadium filled with family members and friends were already there. I felt different from the second I woke up; I started to look at things in a new light. I made it to the stadium in more than enough time. We all sat anxiously in our metal, folding chairs. The breeze flowed, the clouds parted, the sun shined, and our commencement began. From the moment I approached the stage, I knew things would be truly different this time. I had no choice but to surrender to this kick-off into the real world. I knew this, I accepted it, and I welcomed yet another blank canvas into my life. My life changed.

After high school, I was free to live my life as I pleased. I could do whatever I wanted with my future. The freedom felt surreal. This was what I had wished for so long, but I had no idea where to begin. I said goodbye to the shyness. I was not out to please anyone but myself.
I took a year off of school to get a better taste of reality and get a better grasp on what was important to me. I became even more outgoing, spent more time away from home, and gained a sense of independence. This was my time to sort through my priorities and wishes and make life-long decisions. I decided that I wanted to make up for slacking so much throughout high school. I moved back to Maryland to live with my father and be closer to my family. I wanted do well in college, transfer to nursing school, and become a registered nurse. I was determined to make this a reality.

This takes me to the present. I am still that shy girl deep down inside, but I have built up stronger walls and have opened my mind to unlimited possibilities. I have incredible motivation to do well in life. I am very open to new ideas and will try just about anything once. I never want to stop learning. I plan to get my baccalaureate degree in nursing and then continue on to anesthesia school to become a certified registered nurse anesthetist. As frustrated as I get sometimes, I think back to my graduation day. I remembered how utterly amazing it felt to walk across the stage. I remembered how free and ecstatic I felt. It remains only as motivation to get me to where I want to be.






Note: I hope I did this assignment correctly. For some reason, I have this feeling that I went completely off-task. :o(

Paper 1 introduction.

The grades were in, the diplomas had been printed, and my shackles had been unhinged. As I walked toward the stage, it felt as if my feet hardly touched the ground. Mandatory schooling was over. I knew from then on that the rest of my life rested in my own hands. I took a deep breath of independence soaked in achievement while glancing up at my tassel. The golden "2004" sparkled in the sunlight and the maroon and white threads danced in the breeze. At that moment, I closed the door to high school, teenage drama, and proms. From that moment on, every choice was mine. I was finally on my own. Freedom. Nothing made me feel more alive.

I suffered severe writer's block during this assignment.

"Are you getting a medium or a large today?" I asked. I should have guessed. "Large today," he replied. I poured his coffee nervously. I knew exactly how he liked it. Extra cream and five Sweet & Low's. I watched the translucent brown swirl into a milky caramel as millions of previously imagined scenarios raced through my mind. This was the day. At least one of us were going to leave with a phone number on this sunny, April afternoon.

"My guy" was a tall, muscular, college student. He reluctantly came in within the last hour of each of my shifts. His name is Kevin, but we prefer to refer to our current short-lived infatuations strictly as one's "guys." Just the sight of his truck would stop me dead in my tracks. In an instant, I would completely forget what I had been doing. I was the only one he wanted to make his coffee. In fact, if I were preoccupied, he would let people in front of him so my co-workers could take care of them and I could be the one to serve him after I finished.

As easy as it may appear, I had the worst trouble trying to break through my shyness barrier and strike up a worthy conversation. I remained fairly quiet that day. I swiped his Bank of America card and waited patiently as I mentally tripped over every worth that passed his lips. I returned his card along with the reciept. "Here's your card," I began, "...and here's my number." I felt my cheeks burn with anxiety while hazily staring at the pink post-it extended before me. "You should call me if you're not busy with work or school," I continued. I braced myself for rejection. "Oh, okay. Yes, I will definitely give you a call sometime. But don't get offended if I don't call. I don't usually call people," he explained, folding the post-it in half and tucking it into a slot in his wallet. We wrapped up and he left. That had been enough excitement for one day. Mission accomplished, right? Wrong.

I skipped to the back and rested against the wall to recollect myself. No later than a minute passed and I heard commotion by the window. "Ms. Joan and your guy are inspecting the front of your truck, Erin," said one of the regulars. "And now they are coming back in," said another.

"Does anyone in here own a dark green Dodge Dakota?" asked Kevin. I hesistantly raised my hand like a fourth grader unsure of his answer. "I am really, really sorry. I was backing up and I cut the turn too short," he explained. "Here's his information, Erin," Ms. Joan interrupted, sliding the sloppily written numerals and digits across the counter, written on the back of one of her church group's shared recipes.

"My guy" and I walked out together to assess the damage. My left headlight had been cracked. "I will pay for this. Call me and let me know how much it is to repair," he insisted. "No, no... It's fine. Don't worry about it," I told him. It was a lot to register at once. I was still not mentally present post-delivery of my number.

To this day, neither of us have spoken via telephone. He still comes in every now and then, but the incident is not brought up. Irony set in that I got a hold of his number in the end. I would have prefered for him to have skipped the automotive destruction, but at least it makes for an interesting story.






Very, very, very tired, guys.. This doesn't meet expectations, I know. Again, I suffered severe writer's block during this assignment.

My lack of post material is my enemy tonight. :o(

While each person has his or her own personal definition, Merriam-Webster defines enemy as "one that is antagonistic to another; especially; one seeking to injure, overthrow, or confound an opponent; something harmful or deadly." Each of us are fair game to these obstacles in which we are forced to encounter thoughout our lives. An enemy is not necessarily a human or an object, but could also be a situation beyond one's control.

Although the assignment is to discuss a situation in my life when I had been aligned with what everyone else had thought of as the enemy, for the life of me, I cannot pin-point an experience to meet this criteria which is not too personal to share. I am typically neutral when it comes to any given situation or debate. Even though I find the good more than the bad, I see shades of gray more often than simply black or white. I try to keep enemies to a minimum and avoid placing myself in such situations.

I sincerely cannot think of a single "enemy" which is worth discussing in full. Nothing outside of stress, lack of sleep, and a fulltime school and work combination. None of which have been brought to a resolution.

But because I do not feel comfortable cutting this post short due to tonight's unusual lack of creativity and ideas, perhaps I may use perfectionism briefly as meager material.

Although it may sound remotely insignificant, perfectionism is something that directly affects my life on a daily basis. I feel the need to do my best at all times. This brings on much unnecessary stress when it is paired with a packed schedule and little time outside of school hours when work comes into play.

I categorize this as an ememy by the section of the definition stating it can be something that is harmful. I feel as this can become harmful over a period of time because the stress and absence of breaks may build up and eventually cause a mental or physical crash. I do not feel as if I will allow it to result in that manner, but the potential is certainly present.





Sidenote: Wow, guys... I apologize deeply, for I know for certain that this is not my strongest post. I truly have spent time ripping my hair out over this, but I have come up with nothing. I will make it up to you, Drivethru Pickles. I want us to be able to learn from one another. That is what we are here for.


Another quick thought...

Did anyone else find this piece of writing to be difficult to comprehend? I read it twice. The first time was silently; the second was aloud. Still I found myself struggling to get into the reading, which was a major gear change from TTTC.

The Things I Carried

Ten years ago, I was the epitome of a preteen girl. I carried a "skort" on my unshaped hips, brightly colored floral patterns on a day-to-day basis, an adjustable mood ring on my right pointer finger, a candy necklace around my neck, and sparkly “jellies” on my feet. My friends and I each carried several frayed friendship bracelets lined up our wrists. Those bracelets were important to us.

I carried a messenger-style purse strung diagonally across my body. I did not have many true necessities to carry at this age; however, it made a girl feel more important with the more things she carried. We did not think of the items we carried in terms of weight as I do today.

My purse was a randomized grab-bag. It was complete with over-powering hand sanitizer, spare hair ties and clips, a folding brush/mirror combination, movie ticket stubs, packs of Cotton Candy Bubblicious, fruity body spray, neon gel pens, and at least three different flavors of Lipsmackers lip gloss. All of these belongings were nestled in several notes folded into footballs like foam peanuts in a FedEx priority shipment. The only items deemed essential were a single house key attached to eight unnecessary key chains with photo-scopes from a recent Ocean City trip, and a small change purse to carry just enough spending money to suffice when the ice cream man made his rounds.

I carried knock-knock jokes, the latest Spice Girls song in my head, and temporary grudges against my brothers for continually crashing my sleepovers. I carried an abundance of innocence wrapped in curiosity. I carried a smile, memories, and immaturity. As summer wound down, I carried possibilities. I carried expectations for the new school year. I carried few responsibilities. I carried the fears and dreams of my future. I carried the world in my hands.



Fellow Drivethru Pickles members: Let's start commenting. I feel that we could all benefit from each other's opinions, ideas, and constructive criticism. :o)

The Things I Carry

At first glance, it is obvious that I carry clothing and shoes on my feet. I also carry three earrings in each ear and two elsewhere. I almost always carry a necklace around my neck, a bracelet or two around my right wrist, and usually a clip to pin up my hair.

I carry necessities and items with practicality. I carry the bare essentials directly on me, via back pockets. I rarely lose direct contact with my cell phone and wallet during the day. Sometimes I carry an emergency hair tie on my wrist, along with an extra clip on my backpack. I always carry Tylenol in case of headaches, lip balm in case of dry lips, and at least two flavors of gum because I am an obsessive gum chewer. I keep my keys zipped in the front compartment of my backpack for easy accessibility.

The things I carry vary by day. Along with the items previously mentioned, on school days I carry the textbooks and binders required for each class. I carry extra pens, pencils, highlighters, and additional lined paper. I do not like to be unprepared.

On any other day, my keys, wallet, and phone are sufficient in addition to my usual clothing and accessories. I find it unnecessary to carry a purse because it only allows room for collection of useless items which will only weigh me down.

I carry an abundance of emotions, dreams, and memories. I carry a sense of humor, a positive outlook, determination, dedication, and enthusiasm. I carry common sense, a mental list of things I will need to accomplish each day, and an open mind. I carry worries, fear, anxiety and stress. But above all, I carry my independence and motivation to stay strong and work hard to get to where I want to be in life.