shifted tiredly in my bed, running a hand along the vanilla-scented satin sheets in search of him, but he was not there.. I opened my weary eyes only to immediately shield them from the blinding rays of the mid-morning sun as they shone through the straw blinds of his beach cabin. My lips curled up into a self-satisfied grin. He had finally brought me there, his own private getaway. He had whisked me, of all women, away, to celebrate his recent success.. but where is he..? My smile quickly faded
The inside of my body resembles that of a sieve. The biggest whole is buried deep beneath my aching soul. The rhythm of my heart seems to skip a beat with each breath that my lungs consume. As I stand at the front of the church entrance, I can feel the weight of my body shift from side to side. At any moment my legs may give way and buckle beneath my emotionally tired body. The warmth of the bodies from the room brushes past my face sending a flash of heat down my spinal cord. My plain, black suit
unexpectedly. My face grew hot and red with embarrassment as I smiled back. I looked down at the scattered mess of homework that covered my desk. The sun hit the giant purple crystal around my neck perfectly, creating a distorted reflection of light on the wall. Forcing myself to focus, I inserted a calm sounding CD into my CD player. My pencil danced across the paper, adding and dividing numbers that really made no sense to me. I looked at the clock on
of Jack, “Thank you Jack” Kady said. Kady walked down a small hallway and leading up to a door at the end. Kady opened it without knocking and in the room both Paka and Shikamaru were laying next to each other on Paka’s bed. Sheet were messy and pillows were sprawled around the bed. Kady raised an eyebrow and looked back at Jack behind her. Jack looked down at Kady shrugged his shoulder in confusing. Kady and Jack looked back at Paka and Shikamaru whose eyes went wide, “This is not what it looks
about the love of my life, my bed. My bed belonged to my grandmother who has been the most important person in my life. I wanted something that would remind me of her every night before I went to sleep. It may sound weird to people who have their own rooms, their own apartments, their own space, but my bed holds a lot of meaning because it 's an heirloom, it 's a safety zone, and it 's the only place in the whole house that is mine. My bed lets me have the opportunity to have my own space. Unfortunately
under My Bed “Mom, please!” I cried. “All my friends are outside waiting for me.” “Amanda, I told you not until your room is clean. Now, go get started. The sooner you start the sooner you will finish and can then go outside and play,” replied my mother with a firm voice. I was a very stubborn five-year-old girl. My friends were outside wanting me to play, but after much begging my mother was still refusing to let me out of the house until my room was clean. The thought of my friends
in my past or are happening currently. I honestly felt somewhat calmed by creating these poems. I tried to incorporate some of the elements we have discussed in class and some of the techniques we have studied. My first poem was a haiku. I started with inspiration from Lawson Inada’s “Listening Images”. The next poem I wrote was an ode. I started writing this as a joke, but as I continued, I realized that this was a big part of my life. I took inspiration from Meredith Holms “In Praise of My Bed”
Summary In my creative piece, “There’s A Monster In My Bed. Don’t You See? Don’t You See?” illustrates an animal story in the form of a poem with 26 stanzas and each stanza consisting of 4 lines. The focus of my poem comes from the influence of Beatrix Potter’s The Tale of Peter Rabbit and Dr. Seuss’s The Cat in the Hat. Using Potter’s and Seuss’s texts as my inspiration, I established a narrative that combines a mixture of Potter’s and Seuss’s language and style to convey an animal story. Similar
I’m nominating Daisy Hernández’ memoir, “A Cup of Water Underneath my Bed,” for the 2016 Humanities Award for Intersectional Analysis. Daisy’s life story is an exemplary example of intersectionality because she is an authentic compassionate individual who writes about living, the aspects of her identity and redefining the meaning of success. The 2016 Humanities Award for Intersectional Analysis criteria requires that the candidate exemplify a complex intersectional analysis, which Daisy has exemplified
Tracey Emin’s ‘My Bed’ (1998) was displayed in Tate gallery in 1998 and was shortlisted in an exhibition for the turner prize. My Bed Installation; consisted of her bed with bedroom objects in an abject state, Mattress, linens, pillows, objects sized 79 x 211 x 234 cm, currently in displayed in the Saatchi gallery. In 1999 which was sold at an auction for over $ 2.55 million. ‘My Bed’ is one of the recent works of Emin, which shows her own bed having all her private embarrassing glory. Her work
Illustration and Characterization in There's a Monster Under My Bed Children are drawn to picture books that allow them to feel some sort of elementary emotion such as fear or happiness. Of course all children are different and the types of books they will enjoy depends mostly on their age and their stage of cognitive development, but common to all children is the need for both visual and auditory stimulation. In There's A Monster Under My Bed, James Howe and David Rose combine artistic and visual
used as artistic fodder for sculptures, installations and drawings. My Bed was nominated for the Turner Prize for contemporary British art in 1999, and caused a huge controversy in the British tabloid press. Japanese performance artists Yuan Chai and Jian Jun Xi enhanced the piece’s notoriety when they jumped and pillow fought on it, while it was on display at Tate Britain. While the media frenzy around the work has assured My Bed a place in the artistic canon, it is also seen as a significant postmodern
Foreseeing my death soon to come, I have told our daughter everything about how the two of us met and the story behind our marriage as I really hope there will no longer be conflicts between you and Susanna, so I don’t want our daughter to have thorn in her heart thinking that she was just an accident that let to our marriage, because you are the woman I love the most in my life, regardless of what happen in the past and respite what rumours you have heard, I can tell right in this
the bed for sleeping. That means no doing homework, watching TV, eating, or playing on your cell phone while in bed (Ciccarelli,
Despite this, Emin’s ‘My Bed’ and Rego’s ‘Untitled IV’ (from her ‘Abortion Series’) share a common aspect: a bed. In both artworks the bed provides a duality of symbolism. Alison Cole wrote in an article based upon Emin’s ‘My Bed’: “You can interpret it as an uncompromising self-portrait of a woman at a time of emotional trauma – or as a turbulent still life – but it is still a bed and all that a bed symbolises and encompasses: sleep, sleeplessness, sex in all
“Seeing Rhetorically” Writing Exercise My Roommate’s Bed - Positive My roommate’s bed is spotless. She always has it made. Never is a single pillow ruffled; no sheets peek out from under the comforter. Over the summer, she and I decided to make animal print the dominant characteristic of our room. Although I stuck to zebra stripe, her bed linens incorporate every animal print imaginable. She chose a bed set that has small zebra print running the length. In between is a larger strip of dark leopard
My target behavior was to increase my punctualness/timeliness to early morning activities such as work; class and other scheduled events by altering my sleeping and wake habits. I wanted to shorten the time it takes me to wake up and get ready for such activities. I realized that the action of me waking up in the mornings has several competing behaviors that restrict me from achieving my target behavior. I think that it is very important to be on time for one's morning activities, especially if
groaned as I nonchalantly tossed my rent bill after seeing the amount due. The bill slide underneath my bed, “ Oh my goodness” I said annoyed. This was the third month in a row I was going to have to ask for an extension on my rent payment, I could hardly buy myself food, and ontop of that college was getting pretty expensive. Suddenly there was a rustling sound and I saw my bed shake a bit. “ Who's there?” I called out nervously. A grotesque hand slid out from under my bed and quickly tossed the bill
eight o’clock math class to attend and have to catch my bus at six a.m. to be at school on time. This give me a hour to get ready in the mornings and prepare myself a healthy breakfast to start my day right. This somehow affects me because even on weekends I wake up at this time even-though I don't have class while most students are sleeping in am usually awake. I believe that this is known to be a relapse stage because this is not the first time my body is adjut at this time. When I was a Senior in
the middle of my daydream. Dare I say class was less than interesting and all I could think of was my bed? Instead of daydreaming of a hunky man, or even a bright future paved with a golden road of success, I was dreaming of my bed. It was an ordinary college dorm room bed: you never know how many people actually slept in it, or did something else in it, yet I still find comfort in its lumps and bumps. In the brilliance of my afternoon laziness I decided that daydreaming about my bed wasn’t silly