Personal Narrative: No Rest

He knew it was going to be a no excuses to lose to weather and it was going to be a good day for fans to watch football tonight. He had met with Kyle Cannon who was the quarterback for the team and a running back on the team named Dion Gordon;

Well this year was a hell of a year. I mean, i didn't pass any of the semesters but i did observe a ton of stuff that went on in the class. The class in general was pretty lit. Every day went by and i honestly did some work. The class was ready to learn as mrs g was ready to teach. I mean yea we had some days were we didn't want to learn anything and there were also days when mrs g didn't want to teach. But ima be honest, doing the work we did wasn't in my best interest. Most of the projects we did in class i worked on, but at the end i didn't end up liking how i did it so i wouldn't even bother turning anything in. like the obituary we had to write about ourselves. I liked the meaning behind this but honestly i didn't want to work on that because it just brought back memories of my friends that were killed.

Bare with me for another blog post about volleyball. This weekend was the Badger Region Volleyball Tournament, which my team participated in. When I walked into the building, the memories flooded in with scenes from the elevator adventures, cheese fries, and design your own sweatshirts. The first day, my team didn't play up our full potential, with my team only winning one out of three matches; which meant that we didn't place in any of the brackets, meaning zero chance of receiving a medal. However, at the end of the second match, I got switched from being middle all-around to libero ( a position where you only play back row on offense and defense). I guess it's an honor, but it puts a lot of pressure on me by labeling me as the best passer

Walking away from everything you once knew and starting over is never a picnic. Leaving Iraq, and moving to America has impacted my life more than anything. I was only 4 years old at that time, and the only English I spoke was “excuse me, water please.” My family and I did not know it then, but our lives were going to change; we would become “Americanized”. Learning English was one of the massive changes that occurred, the way I dressed (culture), and even the way I had power to go to school and educate myself.

When my mother asked me to read a book a few months ago, I was hesitant to agree. A stressful school year was approaching, and seeing my friends on a Saturday night seemed much more appealing. When I was younger, curling up with a good book was a typical pastime. Then came high school, and reading was replaced with countless hours of studying, cheer practice, and trying to figure out when I could catch up on some much needed rest.

I get down on all fours and relax my whole body, my bones begin to crack. Unlike most wolves, where it stops hurting awhile after your first shift. Mine shift didn't. It still hurts even though it has been six years (No. Our cloths they don't rip, and no. Don't ask me where they go)

It’s Monday, March 15 1943. Each day just gets harder, more people start getting sent to execution camps or how my parents tell my little brother, “a place that needs more workers.” I’m scared for the day it’s my parents getting called to leave, or my little bother, Ash. I know things will start to become stricter due to the Resistance fighters, me being one of them, which have been trying to get through the Muranowska Pokorna Wall. The number of German soldiers to barricade walls has increased. With the hundreds of us that attempted to escape through the wall, I was lucky I wasn’t killed and was able to get away without the Germans knowing I was part of the resistance. I know my family couldn’t handle losing me now. Both my parents are weak and they know that there time to be sent to the concentration camps is coming soon. I just hope it’s me who leaves before them. I don’t think I could take care of ash on my own. I don’t think I could make the situation we’re in seem any better than how it really is. He’s seven years old, but he’s had to grow up a lot faster than most seven year olds his age, everybody in Warsaw has. Tonight was the last night I will be staying in Warsaw, or at least that is what I am hoping for. It took a lot for my family to understand my decision to be part of the resistance. But they respect my choice now. I know it is selfish, and I know it won’t be easy. But I can’t hide anymore, I can’t wait around to be killed. I want to fight back even if it means maybe leaving behind the thing I love most in the world. The fights are

Sorry, I know you're asleep and I continuously keep texting you but I'd rather tell you everything now so you won't feel worried when you wake up when I will still feel asleep. What I wanted to tell you was that I just haven't been happy lately. Maybe it's because I miss you; because of all the shitty things that has been happening to me. I haven't been happy for over a week. But between us, all we do is argue and I'm so tired, Ciro. Sometimes I lay in bed and just grab my head because of how exhausted I am with the constant fightings. I have so many problems in my life and I have to go on and tell you everything that's happening when I shouldn't. It honestly makes things worse. I even cry because I can't take my life anymore. Believe me, I cry every single day. Not

The three months that I was able to live with my parents flew by, it felt like only one week. Those three months was full of quiet dinners, silent breakfasts, and little to no eye contact. My parents would avoid looking, talking, and acknowledging me as much as possible. To say the least, I was somewhat happy when the three months was up, despite knowing what it meant. The only talking I did with my parents, was to decide which motel I should live in in downtown Los Angeles. Through much arguing and checking of prices, they decided that I would live in a the “Rest Safe” motel. I laughed at the fact that the name was “Rest Safe”, despite being in one of the areas with the highest crime rate.

I've posted about this (a lot), but I've been keeping myself pretty busy, lately. Most Sunday evenings, I look at my calendar and see that my week is fully scheduled - from when I wake up until dinner time. Between preparing for and teaching several yoga classes each week, actively drumming up business to grow my company, and spending time with my toddler (not to mention, staying married), I'm booked. When I have "free time," it's because I scheduled it in.

Fatigue. What a faithful friend. It creates frustration. It slows down daily functions. It removes extracurricular activities you once could accomplish. It causes you to not want to wake up in the morning. It encourages you to sleep when you’re supposed to be working. It tells you that you can’t do anything without the energy that it has stolen. But what can you do? Sleep more? What if it comes with some condition you have? What if the doctor has told you they can’t do anything. It’s something you must do yourself. Wow. I forgot; it steals hope. Hope that you can go hang out with your friends. Hope that you can pass your classes. Hope that you will one day overcome all your adversities. But I've determined the worst part of the day is the morning.

We stepped out of the station and it hit me immediately, the glorious smell of carnival style hot dogs and and the pure ecstasy of the sugary goodness that is funnel cakes. I dragged my girlfriend Lauren to the nearest stand and ordered one of each. The hot dog wasn’t the best I’d ever had, but I didn’t complain as I was hungry from the ride over. Then the funnel cake, oh man was that amazing, powdered sugar goodness over freshly fried bread, a delicacy to say the least. Suddenly the roar of a roller coaster flying by with the shrieks of the ecstatic people on the ride filled my ears. I pleaded with Lauren to ride one with me, but she wouldn’t budge, finally, she conceded to at least go on the ferris wheel with me. We bought our tickets and

In working-out, there are no shortcuts so I stand there, sweat dripping down my face, the bar heavy with 135 pounds on my shoulders while my school’s strength coach encourages me, “come on, you got this”. I do it. I squat a set of 135 pounds for the first time!

The Plains of Ashford beautiful when you learn to look past the fortifications the Charr have erected and the wrathful ghosts of Ascalon that still haunt the lands. It’s like looking at a perpetual state of the harvest season.

My plan for him is a timeout in his bedroom but he already knows what’s going to happen and mounts a counter attack biting me on the knuckle of my right middle finger. I drop him to the floor and let out an “OUCH!” He runs away to his hiding spot in the living room behind my so called command center. I look down and I see blood start to rise out of my newly acquired battle wound so I walk over to the sink turn on the hot water. I grab the blue bottle of Dawn squeeze some into my hands and rub/rinse several times. After about 15 minutes the blood finally quit running and then I headed to the bathroom off to my right for a band aid and some wipes. After I bandaged up my hand I went back into the dining room to grab my dishes and put them into