Recently Caity wrote a blog about whether or not classes can be family… and it made me want to write about my experience in that dreary, dimly lit, white-walled, would-be depressing, corner room. Room 532.

The school year began the same way they always had… except I was one year older and could offically be on the ’senior’ teams. When I walked into room 532 for my Canadian Literature class I saw a group of people with whom I rarely spoke and only a few I called friends. I expected to hate dragging my feet up those stairs and walking into room 532. But I didn’t.

Let me rewind for a second and take you back to junior high… not that you’ll want to visit the me I was then, but it’s important. Junior high was a hilarious atrocity. Between the endless pimples and the ever-changing body it’s hard to come out on top. However… I managed. I was pretty cool in grade six and seven, but it came with a price… I was a total bitch. I was one of those girls that flicked her hair over her shoulder, flirted with far too many boys and should’ve been voted most-likely to give you the stink-eye in between classes. So I had pretty much grown out of this phase by grade eleven. I wasn’t really a chronic hair flicker and managed to save my flirting for a select few . The eye I frequently gave was rather sweet-smelling and all in all, I was less of a bitch. When I walked into room 532 on September 4th, 2006, I liked myself, hated who I used to be, and considered myself to be a pretty decent person.
But I could’ve walked into room 532 the same girl I had been in junior high and came out as the exact same person I am now. It was my grade eleven year and that stupid jail-cell room that made me who I am today.

The people in room 532 were all very different. We had different friends, different interests, different personalities. We were shoved together in that room forced to spend the rest of our school year together. The course was called Canadian Literature, the teacher Ms. Wright. I can honestly say that I have cried more, laughed harder, and learned more in that class than I ever have before. That room had a way of bringing its 17 (17, right?) occupants together in the most fascinating way.
I have 532 and the book Crow Lake to thank for that incredible year. The first book we read – Crow Lake – sparked enough discussion to bring our class together. For some reason those dreary walls, horribly uncomfortable desks, and windows that blocked out every single ray of sunlight seemed to make you want to share your life with complete – or almost complete – strangers.

I have an appreciation for every single person in that class because I do believe that they have all been incredibly important in my life and have moulded me into, well, me. I think without room 532 I could have easily let myself walk back down the path of hair-flipping and stink-eye-giving. It was in this class that I came to terms with the person that I was and promised myself to never be that person again. This class let me cry for the first time in one year. It was in this class I learned to accept people as they are. It was in this class I sincerely apologized to someone I had unknowingly hurt in my junior high days. This class let me listen to others in a way I never had before. This class helped me appreciate the little things in life. It was in this class I realized that my life isn’t as bad as I thought. This class showed me what I wanted to do with my life. This class gave me the courage to speak freely.

To the people reading this who were in that room… thank you for changing me. Because no matter how much I liked the person I was when I walked into that room, I love the person I left as. I’m happy to have left a piece of me behind in that room and even happier to have taken a piece of everyone else with me.

Between the circle of desks that held in our deepest secrets and let out our deepest emotions and the always hilarious moments I could expect in that class, what I thought would be a terrible year and a terrible decision turned out to be the best decision I could’ve ever made.

But enough about me. What I really wanted to say was thank you to everyone who was in that class, share an experience and ask you guys… can you pinpoint a moment in your life when you were absolutely changed? Was there a year, a month, a week, a day, an hour, a minute of your life that changed the person you are today? Why?

All these posts about dreams made me want to write about a recurring dream I have been having. I’m warning you right now… it does not make any sense. If you’re one of those people who has dream book and likes to analyze dreams… go ahead and analyze this one because part of me really wants to find out what it means! If this was any old dream that I have once and its gone, I wouldn’t care but I’ve had it three nights in a row! It’s messed…

So the dream begins on a beautiful island. It is filled with gorgeous trees, beautiful flowers and birds, and endless sunshine. All of my friends and family live on the island with me and we seem really happy to be there. The really cool thing about this island is that it is magically protected (seriously). Only people who are ‘meant’ to be there can be, and I’m pretty sure it’s like ‘MY’ island so only the people that I want to be around can actually live on this island. If anyone else tries to get inside, they get shot back out and magically transported to their hometown. Say for example Jake Scott and Scott Futher (who I don’t want on my island ever) decided to try and come for a visit, they would get shot back to Wellesley. Just kidding you guys are on my island . Anyways… back to the actual island. It’s impossible to get into. Or so I thought…
So everyone on the island is grouped for dinner in the dining hall, and all of a sudden three Mexican drug smugglers magically appear in the dining hall. Everyone gets down on the ground and they kidnap me.
They take me to the middle of the desert and make me run around barefoot as they shoot the ground behind me, so that I run faster. Then they open up a vortex (yeah) and out come like 150 Mexican drug smugglers, into the middle of the desert. Then, the three magical ones set up a feast for them and create a cage out of thin air, and put me in it. I watch them eat and listen intently to their conversation. Somehow, I understood spanish. The Mexicans were convinced I didn’t understand it so they spoke freely about their plans. Apparently, I was the only one holding the magical protection over the island and only the three magical mexicans could get in and out. I guess the island is covered in plants that can be used to make some futuristic drug called ‘Salmanko’ (yeah, I don’t know why), and they can’t get to the plant unless I am off of the island. So they are planning to infiltrate the island now that my magical hold is not there, kill all my friends and family and take over the island and begin producing ‘Salmanko’. That’s really all I heard from the conversation but it was enough to put a fire under me. I knew I needed to save my family and friends.
In the middle of the night when all the Mexicans were sleeping, a spirit – the spirit of my mother (I guess she is dead in this dream) – comes to me and tells me that I have the magical ability to mentally communicate with someone on the island. Problem is, she doesn’t know who it is and I am supposed to ‘find the spiritual connection’. So all night, I’m searching for this ‘connection’. I try to talk with the likely people: my boyfriend, my best friends, and my aunt. However, I can’t communicate with any of these people. I try all night long, and go through every single person that I know is on the island, and can’t seem to find a connection with any of them. As the sun was rising and I’m beginning to lose hope, I remembered about the exile. On the island there’s one person who I originally planted on the island but decided he wasn’t worthy… so instead of sending him back home I exiled him. The exile is my dad, which I’m sure has some sort of symbolic meaning… but anyways. I try to contact him and somehow manage to make a connection with him. I tell him all about the Three Magical Mexicans and their plans to take over the island. I end up leaving the fate of my island in his hands. I don’t know what he does or how he does it, but the next thing that happens in the dream is the battle. I suppose he got everyone together for the battle with the Mexicans, and managed to get guns and swords. I’m not involved in the battle as I am still stuck in my cage in the desert… but I watch the battle through my father’s eyes and somehow none of my friends or family get hurt. So next thing I know all the Mexicans are dead and I’m back on the island and my dad isn’t in exile anymore. The witch who cast the protection spell over the island increases its strength and we cut down all the Salmanko plants and put them in the ocean so that no one can ever get addicted to this drug.

Wierd… I know.

So I figured I’d write about what I’m doing this march break and then you guys can tell me what YOU are doing. If you’re away on some fantastic trip don’t brag too much .

So this week I decided to do some volunteering… I need about 10 hours to finish my 40 hours for school. My mom got me in at an Early Intervention office run by KidsLink. For those of you who don’t know… KidsLink is a huge organization that helps children all over Canada. Since I want to be a social worker I’m really glad I got in here to volunteer! What the office I am in does is work with children from 2-5 who are in preschool or kindergarden and are having difficulties learning. The social workers from this office go to schools in the area and teach these kids the fundamental skills that will help them to learn. They also run their own preschools and kindergardens for students who have so much trouble that they cannot be in a regular school system.
I had to get a police check done and fill out a LOT of confidentiality forms so that I could volunteer here, but it’s so worth it. They have this really cool way of teaching kids with learning disabilities. Friday was my first day, and I helped create a booklet for these kids… and it was to learn songs that most children know… (BINGO, Itsy Bitsy Spider, Old MacDonald). What the booklet was was a bunch of pieces of paper with pictures to describe every part of the song… and then as we sing the song wtih the kids we get them to point to the pictures. It’s really cool to see how this thing works… it may sound silly or something but it actually helps a lot. I am loving every minute of it right now. I was just going to volunteer Friday from 8-5 and Monday 12-5 but I am just having so much fun with these kids so I’m going to be volunteering with them monday, tuesday, wednesday, and next friday as well. I’m glad to have something productive to do!

On Thursday I am going to McMaster with my mommy for a campus tour. I am pretty excited about that and I can’t wait to see some residences and then apply for residence! It’s all becoming so real, I’m sure many of you understand what I mean! I can’t wait until Thursday!

Other than that I’m not doing anything wacky. Unless you include going on msn and talking to Jake about fish, Gene Simmons, catnip, and cheese exciting. In which case… I’m doing something exciting RIGHT NOW!!!!!!!!! (happy Jake? lol)

Anyways… what are YOU GUYS doing over march break?

Joey: ‘I can pass for nineteen, right?’
Phoebe: ‘Sure… except… you’ve got to do something about your eyes.
Joey: ‘My eyes? What’s wrong with my eyes?’
Phoebe: ‘There’s… too much wisdom in there. You know what you should do? Put teabags under your eyes for ten minutes.’
Joey: ‘And that’ll get rid of my wisdom?’
Phoebe: ‘Maybe just five minutes for you.’

Classic Friends. Anyway, that was just to explain the title of my blog. Now, to point out the relevance… I am getting my wisdom teeth taken out tomorrow. Hopefully I get to keep my wisdom .
I can’t begin to describe how nervous I am for tomorrow. I’ve never had surgery of any kind so I’m extremely stressed out. I know it will go okay but I’m still scared. My mom makes me laugh pretty hard and she’s helping me feel better. Last night, I was getting really worked up about it and I kept saying that I was convinced I was going to die in the chair. To calm me down, my mom says (and this is an exact quote) ”Ashley, you could die right now. The chances of you dying because of your surgery are just as likely as you dying becuase you get hit by a car or something. It’ll be fine. I doubt you’ll die. I mean, how many people actually die from it? Probably only a handful. And hey, even if you do die, you can come back and haunt your friends. It’d be fun. And then I’ll die eventually… I dunno maybe I’ll get struck by lightning… and we can haunt people together. Okay?” If you don’t know my mom or me very well, then you might not think this would be helpful but for me it is. When she can joke about it I know that I don’t have a lot to worry about.

The big issue for me is needles. I have a really big fear of needles, and I cry and hyperventelate and shake and stuff whenever I even see a needle. Tomorrow I have to get two needles in the back of my hands, because the veins in my arms aren’t big enough. Recently I’ve been having dreams about them injecting the stuff into me and then instead of putting me to sleep, it keeps me awake… except they think I’m sleeping. (Does that make sense?) Anyways, so I’m actually awake but they don’t know that I’m awake and I can feel EVERYTHING. I know its irrational but hey, I’m scared!!

I’m also scared that my body wont react properly to the drug that they give me to put me out and I’ll wake up in the middle of it. I’ve heard of that happening a couple times and I’m a little worried about that. Especially since I am allergic to something in the anesthesia that they usually use, so they are using a substitute. Apparently ”it works the same”, but I’m not completely convinced!!

Anyways, thanks for letting me rant! Hopefully I’ll see you all in class on Tuesday. If not, expect some serious hauntings . I’ll update this blog after the surgery to let you guys know how it went, for those of you who care

I thought it would be really nice to share some family christmas stories, now that christmas is quickly approaching. So I’ll start it off, and then I want to hear yours! If you have a really touching, funny, sweet, memorable, or even angry Christmas memory… write it!

So here’s mine!
This is a story of my FAVOURITE Christmas. I’ll always remember it because it taught me a lot of things.
It was 2001 (I was 11).
Actually, I should start off by briefly explaining the Christmas prior to this one… so, 2000. The Christmas I found out Santa wasn’t real. My brothers told me he didn’t exist and I got so angry. I actually realized that my parents spent money on the gifts I got from Santa, and they didn’t just magically appear. I felt so bad that my parents spent all their money on me for Santa gifts that I was determined to buy them presents with my OWN money next year.
Ah, Christmas 2001. You’re probably wondering how I managed to make money. Well, I had a brilliant solution. I waited until my 11th birthday (July, 2001) and got a job with The Record. I made $250 a month and put it all away. In November, I decided to go Christmas shopping. I took out $500 and went out with my mom. I bought my entire family their Christmas presents (and still had about $500 that my mom put away for education). I wrapped them myself (pretty badly, but hey, I was 11) and put them under the tree. I was so proud of myself. It felt so good to know that I was going to make my family smile at Christmas. Ah, Lesson 1: The value of money. I learned that somtimes, it sucks spending your own money on things for other people. But you do it anyways because it makes them happy.
That Christmas, my oldest brother Adam (who was 17) was living in foster care (it’s a long story). He came home on Christmas Eve, and then on Christmas morning we realized that he didn’t presents for us. Since he didn’t live with us my mom and dad hadn’t realized that he didn’t have money to buy his own presents. He started crying because he felt terrible (for those of you who know my brother – it was a big step, crying). He felt like the worst person in the world. So the next day, I told my mom that I wanted to go shopping, and so we did. I got her to give me the $500.00 that she had put away and I bought four presents. One for me, one for my brother Matt, one for my mom, and one for my dad. I put them under the Christmas tree and said they were all from Adam. When he came to visit the next week he saw the presents and I said ‘Santa must’ve dropped them off late.’ (Cheesy line, I know, but cut me some slack!) He started crying again, and we all sat down and he gave us our presents. I’ll never forget that Christmas.
Lesson Two: Family is more important than anything else in the whole world.
Lesson Three: Make someone happy. If you can make just one person happy, you will feel like a million bucks.
Lesson Four: How To Fake It. If you know about your gifts before hand, and you know how to fake being surprised, it will make other people feel better .

So that’s my Christmas story.