Dear Reader,
My name is Tammy and I am not a writer. I am sure you are already wondering how can that be, you have this lovely e-portfolio? I am 34 years old and a single mom. I have recently started going to college and have never thought of myself as a writer.
I was born in Everett and raised here by my parents who are still married. I have two brothers and one sister. All three are married; I on the other hand am not. I have a 13-year-old daughter and live in Marysville. I had moved back to Snohomish County last year after my sister had twins. Our families bought a duplex and live next door to each other. I am very happy with my life, except my job.
I decided if I want the job of my dreams I better get a degree so I can get it. So I am going back to school to get my degree and show my daughter at any age you can get whatever you want.
When I started my English class I was not sure if I was going to make it or not. I understand verb, nouns and prepositional phrases. But write a paper, not me is all I could think. Over the course of this class I have learned that not only can I do it, but also I like to do it.
I have picked pieces of my work that show how far I have come from the beginning when I wasn’t sure what I was doing towards the end of our class showing how much I have learned, from fragments to comma splices to complete sentences and conjunctions.
Three months ago my name was Tammy and I was not a writer, today my name is the same but I am a writer.
Thursday, June 3, 2010
My New Life
I was nervous on my first day in college classes. I could not sleep the night before so I was extremely tired. It was a bad start already, when I got to the school I could not find parking, making my palms start to sweat. Then I realized I didn't know where all my classes were even located. My heart staqrted to race out of my chest. I was starting to sweat everywhere, my forehead looked like Niagra Falls all of the sudden I could not hear anything but the poundfing of my heart. Thump thump. Then I noticed my stomach started to churn. As I started to think Ibetter find a bathroom I saw the door to my first class. I took a deep breath wiped my forehead adn said a small prayer. Opened the door and began my new life.
The Messy, Messy Car
mud hanging from the rims, caked on dirt on the doors, bugs smeared across the windshield. Someone had written please wash me across the trunk. on the floor of the front seat there was so much dirt and debris from outside you can not tell if it has carpet or any flooring at all. the backseat was worse than the city dump. Empty food containers and bags from Arby's and Wendy's too. there also seemed to be some kind of sticky mess on the door handle that a bio-hazard team would not torch. the odor fo decay and mold was accompanied by a sweet strawberry smell form the lone sad tree hanging from the rearview mirror.
My Secret Childhood Place
As a child the old treehouse was the best hiding place. It had these dfark knots in the base that I used as a ladder to climb into its high limbs. The treehouse had no door but an opening just big enough to squeeze into. There were no windows just three solid walls the ceiling was the branches themselves lush and green in the summer. During the summer you could be part of the family Robinson or just read the comic books that my mom did not like me to read. My sister was not strong enough to climb the tree, she would stand at the base screaming up at me but never be able to actually see me hiding there. Laying on the floor I could peak down through the doorway of the aged wood and see if she was still there. I never was sure when she would give up and go get mom.
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