I'm Thankful For.....yikes..

I'm thankful for a lot of things this year-friends, family and food included, the three F's. And I suppose I'm thankful for my classmates as well. The group that I sit in makes class fun and interesting and I'm not afraid to share my opinions with them when doing group work or peer editing.
          I'm thankful for Kayla because she's always willing to share her kindle with me when I forget my book. She's really funny and makes me laugh whenever she gives attitude to Keduse. I also enjoy reading her writing and hearing what she has to say during group work. Though usually when doing group work we spend ten minutes on each question because we can't always agree on the answers (this is usually Keduse's fault).
          I'm thankful for Kyla because she's really good at bsing the answer to a question that we haven't answered as a group yet. She's really talkative and keeps the conversation going when we seem to hit a dead end. Plus Kyla brings food and shares it with Keduse so that keeps him quiet for a little while. (Funny how these things keep coming back to Keduse, huh?) She has a great sense of humor and I know that even when we argue about the answer to something we can walk away from it still friends.
         I guess I'm thankful for Keduse too sometimes. I think he shared his book with me that one time. And sometimes he makes a funny joke. Nah, Keduse is actually pretty okay. Even if the only reason he's in this blog is because he threatened me. He's really smart, unfortunately, and more than often we actually get along pretty well. He also makes class enjoyable because it's easy to annoy him and get him  all flustered. (Sorry buddy)
        As I said, I'm thankful for a lot of things this Thanksgiving. And my English II classmates definitely make the list.

I Celebrate Myself

I celebrate myself.
          But I do so for the wrong reasons.
          I don't celebrate myself for being honest because I'll lie if it means keeping myself or someone else from getting hurt. I don't celebrate myself for standing up to anyone because I back down from any sort of conflict. I don't celebrate myself for being different because it's hard to be different from anyone these days as everyone stretches more and more outside the box looking for individuality.
          I wouldn't say I'm especially pretty or smarter than average. I don't really think I'm all that different from any of my friends or very original. I don't have any special talents and I don't play any sports or instruments.
          I celebrate myself all the same because I come to terms with the fact that it's okay to not stand out in a crowd of people. As long as I'm okay with who I am I'll celebrate myself.

Poe

          Edgar Allan Poe led a very unhappy and unfortunate life and this very likely bled into his writing and would explain all of his moody, depressing, horrific stories. From a young age he was separated from his siblings, raised by a cold father, and went through financial problems for basically all of his life. 

          Poe's momma died when he was two years old and she had taken him and his two siblings to live on their own. Poe was separated from his brother and sister and raised by Mr. and Mrs. John Allan who   lived with pretty good conditions. Edgar went through elementary school in England and then moved to the US to continue his studies at the University of Virginia when he was seventeen. Poe's foster father was wealthy but he did not share much of his wealth with Edgar so he soon racked up a bunch of debt and started drinking heavily. 

          He had no job and no money so Poe enlisted in the US army when he was 18. He got up to the rank of sergeant major when Mrs. Allan died and Mr. Allan decided to be a little more amiable towards Poe. He signed Poe's application to go to West Point for the army. Poe lived with his grandmother and cousin, Virginia, while waiting to enter West Point. John Allan refused to send Poe money so he didn't stay long and was soon dismissed from the army as well. 

          Poe moved to New York where some of his poetry was published but most of the works he sent to magazines and newspapers were rejected. He even begged John for help again but never heard from him and John Allan died three years later. Poe was one of the only writers trying to make a living off of his writing only instead of having another job and writing as a hobby. His style of writing wasn't popular either because his stories were gruesome and horrifying so they didn't sell and he didn't get much money for the ones that did get published. 

          The last days of Poe's life are a very mysterious mystery. On September 30, 1849 Edgar was supposed to take a train New York but supposedly took the wrong train to Baltimore. Three days later he was found lapsing in and out of consciousness and was taken to the hospital but he couldn't say exactly what had happened to him. Edgar Allan Poe died in the hospital four days later, his life a spiral of depressing events and his death an intriguing mystery.