tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-231466002011-08-09T04:54:11.078-08:00These are more a collection of personal essays rather than what is considered a blog. They are essays in the tradition of Montaigne: personal, reflective, rambling, sometimes with no real "ending" per se except that I have reached the end of my contemplation of whatever I happen to be contemplating.Jessica K.http://www.blogger.com/profile/17461268579294778876noreply@blogger.comBlogger91100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23146600.post-90825888551253872262007-05-02T18:47:00.001-08:002009-05-26T16:47:03.988-08:00

I’m wearing my dead brother’s shirt. I can’t remember ever seeing him wear it, but it was his, and now it’s mine. If you asked me what I get out of wearing this shirt, I’m not sure I could answer you. I have often wondered that myself. It’s just a shirt. It doesn’t hold anything that’s left of him: all that’s left of him are in my memories, my family’s memories. Maybe that’s what ghosts are

Jessica K.http://www.blogger.com/profile/17461268579294778876noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23146600.post-87140507957995471812007-04-30T04:53:00.000-08:002007-05-03T12:08:16.562-08:00

YEEEAAARRRRRRRGGGGHHHHH!!!! My intermittent productivity was just RUDELY interrupted by the imposition of a tiny dangling crunchy arachni-poid against my FREAKING CHEEK! Again, I say: YEEEAAARRRRRRRGGGGHHHHH!!!!! I felt this itchiness, and I thought it was hair brushing my face, but when I touched my cheek I felt the squirmy little bastard rolling between my fingers

Jessica K.http://www.blogger.com/profile/17461268579294778876noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23146600.post-14873336103621361522007-04-17T11:02:00.000-08:002007-04-18T09:56:17.451-08:00

It's not a very glamorous fear, this fear of spiders; I know I am not alone in my loathing, my irrational abhorrence. I know I am not the only one who has jumped and screamed and flailed my arms wildly for no apparent reason, only to explain breathlessly to my curious companions that I had noticed a teeny tiny spider descending down from the ceiling on its gossamer thread of deceit. Immediately,

Jessica K.http://www.blogger.com/profile/17461268579294778876noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23146600.post-76766552043695148542007-03-13T07:45:00.000-08:002007-04-18T20:02:54.584-08:00

"In the spring a young man’s fancy lightly turnsto thoughts of love . . . " - TennysonWhen I was 28 we moved into the Death House, my sister Jenny, her boyfriend Tim, and I. We called it the Death House because, in fact, someone had died there: two someones, back in the late 1980s. The real-estate agent had been required to disclose the deaths before Tim bought the house, I guess there is some

Jessica K.http://www.blogger.com/profile/17461268579294778876noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23146600.post-36348077294496408452007-03-05T08:13:00.000-09:002007-04-03T10:17:03.123-08:00

"I ate them like salad, books were my sandwich for lunch, my tiffin and dinner and midnight munch. I tore out the pages, ate them with salt, doused them with relish, gnawed on the bindings, turned the chapters with my tongue! Books by the dozens, the score and the billion. I carried so many home I was hunchbacked for years. Philosophy, art history, politics, social science, the poem, the

Jessica K.http://www.blogger.com/profile/17461268579294778876noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23146600.post-45960349118550291582007-02-27T20:39:00.000-09:002007-03-13T09:43:14.838-08:00

This is not a new essay. The story here is part of what was an application essay I wrote in order to be admitted to the UAA graduate program in English-Rhetoric. (with-natch-some current additions to content that I could not resist: what writer can resist the chance to edit his or herself?) The assignment was to write an autobiography. I suppose I shouldn't call it an assignment, it was more

Jessica K.http://www.blogger.com/profile/17461268579294778876noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23146600.post-49808752961652428872007-02-16T23:20:00.000-09:002007-04-03T23:03:10.578-08:00

note: I'm not entirely sure about this blog -- it did not quite turn out the wayI'd hoped -- but here it is. I've worked on it for about three weeks, andI think it needs to set for a while ... maybe I'll edit it a few monthsfrom now. Maybe I won't. I like to think I'm OK with notbeing perfect ... I'd like to think ... ************************************************I am really, really good at

Jessica K.http://www.blogger.com/profile/17461268579294778876noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23146600.post-54089764362984219532007-02-01T19:31:00.000-09:002007-03-13T19:02:52.347-08:00

Teaching is one of the most wonderful and terrifying jobs I have ever had. I suppose it's good that it is terrifying, because I am the kind of person who gets bored easily. The longer I teach, the more I look back upon the teachers I've had with both a more critical and a more sympathetic eye. I'm a strong believer in the idea that life gives us lessons every day; the willingness to learn the

Jessica K.http://www.blogger.com/profile/17461268579294778876noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23146600.post-1145270128202624002007-02-01T02:34:00.000-09:002007-02-17T01:28:11.752-09:00

Welcome to my blog.This is part of an ongoing assignment for one of my graduate classes - the assignment is to blog about whatever the heck we want to. The class is ENGL. 671: The Evolution of the Essay, taught by Dr. Jacqueline Cason.You are not required to read this blog, but I wanted to at least make you aware of its existence. My philosophy is: you're sharing your writing with me, and

Jessica K.http://www.blogger.com/profile/17461268579294778876noreply@blogger.com0