Thankfulness (Emily Hawkins is the bomb)

I don't think it will come to a surprise to anyone that the person I'm thankful for in the class is Emily. Emily Hawkins. There's really no way that this won't come off as a love letter to Emily so I'll stop fighting it and just embrace it.

Dear Emily,

Thanks for being in my English class (even though that wasn't exactly your choice, but perhaps you willed it to happen). I love you because I can make a face at you and you already know what I'm thinking. We share opinions and feelings and passions (well, duh, you're my horcrux). It makes me feel slightly less crazy knowing that you agree with me. Even though it probably just means we're two crazies...still. I appreciate that I can text you when I have no idea what the homework is; which is probably more often than it should be. I like when we accidentally write about the same thing in our journal. I love you for introducing me to the Doctor and knowing why the phrase "Totally Awesome" can send me into uncontrollable fits of laughter. I love you because you have a nice balance of heavy metal and musicals on your iPod.

I love the look on your face when you realize something or find something totally awesome. I love that you realize your faults but still have confidence. I love the way you smell. I love that I get to be the red/green/blue/pink haired girl's friend. I like that your always energetic and full of life. I love your style. I love your face. I love that you're supermegafoxyawesomehot (by the way we need to get that word into the dictionary) without trying to be. I'm thankful you love me even though I'm a gryffindor. I'm thankful you put a Tardis on my locker so we can go on exciting journeys through time and space together. I'm thankful that after traveling for 16 hours on the floor of a bus that you would do it all over again.

I'm thankful that you're alive and you tolerate me.

Lots of thankfulness and love, as always
Gianna

Cormac McCarthy: The Road

In an interview with The Wall Street Journal Cormac McCarthy talks about goodness and his son, John. McCarthy says his son is morally a wonderful person. He also says that's just who John is as a person and that goodness isn't something you learn; it's just something you have or don't. 

Everyone is born with morals, and as we 'grow' and 'learn' these morals often fall away. It's like a ball that is constantly being thrown around and hit at and the ball gets ratted and worn, but its up to the person to keep the ball in good condition, and if they don't you won't even be able to use it any more; it'll just be a piece of crap. And some damage done to the ball can be reversed with a little cleaning but major damage can't always be fixed. So young children come automatically with these morals, these things that they know are right. And if this sense of morality is cultivated and encouraged at a young age then their morality can grow and become stronger. But if it isn't, their morals can easily fall away. And this goes on throughout a person's life, the world can chip away at their morals. But if the world can take away someone's morals, why can't it give them back? Sure, learning to be moral is harder than learning to be corrupt, but it's not impossible. So I guess I agree and disagree with McCarthy; I agree in that you're born with morals and they can be destroyed but I disagree in that I take the less cynical view (believe me, that's probably the last time you'll hear me say that) and I think you can learn morals from our world, as difficult as it may  be. Back to the ball analogy, no matter how beat up your ball of morality is, you can always get a new one.

Thanks,
Gianna.