If I Die It's Because

I obviously didn't succeed on keeping any of my goals; except for the read friends' writing, I've done that at least a bit.  Hopefully I'll be able to post at least once a week now.

But school has started, so that will be harder than it should be.  I have six classes this semester, but I don't want to just let my blog fall to the wayside.  I have three English classes (fiction writing, world literature, and technology and writing [which is actually about blogging]), two women's studies classes (urban folklore and love and friendship), and my first PE course, women's self defense.

For the latter I signed a permission slip that said I was aware of the possible risks it listed and accepted them.  They talked about possible death at least three times.  So, if I die, it's because my partner, Sarah, and I did something stupid.  We met and decided to be partners in this class while exclaiming "what the Hell?!" over the permission slip.

This week has been a little rough, due in part to the fact that it is the first week back.  I need to get ready to leave for school, so I'm going to leave you with a piece of my creative work.  It's a writing exercise for my fiction class.  Kevin encouraged me to go with it and follow my heart on what I wanted to do with it.  The format looks kind of strange here, but if you'd be so kind, comments are lovely.

            Her hands rested on the curve of her stomach as she eyeballed her aunt’s damn cuckoo clock.  She’d obviously misjudged the older woman.

            “Cassandra,” her aunt smacked the table in front of her.

            “I’m listening.”

            “If you’d been listening you would’ve answered my question.”

            “If you’d been saying something interesting I would’ve listened.”

            “Do you want my help?”

            “Yes.”  Cassandra’s gaze settled on her belly before returning it to her aunt’s eyes.  “What was your question?”

            “How do you expect me to believe that you’re pregnant and—”

            “I expect you to trust me,” Cassandra said, then swallowed hard.

            Her aunt pushed her chair back from the table and started to clean the kitchen.

            “Are you dismissing me?”

            “There’s nothing to talk about if you’re only going to tell me fairytales.”

            Cassandra jerked up from her seat and left through the kitchen door, making sure that it slammed behind her.  The door of the car she slid into received an equal amount of abuse.

            “Went well then?” the driver said.

            “Don’t talk to me.”

            “That’s right.  I just drive the get away car; I’m not supposed to be able to talk.”

            Cassandra glowered out the window.  This jerk, her roommate and lifetime friend, was the one that everybody thought was the father of her unborn child.  She’d never even had sex…