I decide to go back college about month ago, and today was the day I enrol.
The course is very first course that anyone with do if they want to become counsellor which obvious I am aim for. Dyslexia has being sort and of register for extra support which I will probably need. Not sure about have someone in class with me, I think would feel intimidate so I think I will go for lunch time support in library basic area.
I feel good that I have
Updated 08-31-2012 at 06:37 PM by zoolane
(miss words what else.)
In starting the process of tranfering my Facebook posts re Don Quixote I discovered a preface I had written there which I am NOW puting here--but with an attempt to correct numerous typos.
Attempting to read Don Quixote by Cervantes--74 chapters with the encouragement of my first friend on an certain website almost six years ago now--the only LADY I have ever known to read Rider Haggard though I also count myself a friend to another who LOVES H. G. Wells--I can take or leave him.
Ah. The birdie's gone. It livened up after a good sleep. We looked at it when I got up and found it had eaten. Seed and meal worms were strewn across the box. Confined wild pigeons seem to be quite incontinent, the last one we found did the same. When we looked in the paper was covered in pigeon poop. We're not sure if it had a drink or not but we hope it did, though I suspect the bowl might have been a little high for it.
It looked much better once it was dry (remember it was raining
Don Quixote--Chapter 1--Impressions--a concise summary of the famous resident of La Mancha and the perils of reading too many comic books I trust. I love Batman and the Shadow--I do not PLAY at being Batman and the Shadow. A hobby gone to extremes and perhaps the first role player for the modern age. I like this old man especially since he's 49 and I am well past him now in that grand old age. I do believe I too suffer the Peter Pan syndrome--not really wanting to grow up.
During her first walk of the day I'm told that Yuki discovered a bird and tried to eat it. A live bird. A little pigeon. When mum came home she told me about it and started looking for a box. I offered to go with her to get it, got dressed and found a suitable box. It was raining and we found the poor thing where they'd left it, huddled up in a tight little alcove under some weeds.
At once I could see that it wasn't in great condition. It had a red mark on it's wing implying a cut