As he bucked in the air I felt the force of his back legs throwing me out of the saddle. It was the fourth time he bucked and I had ceded from fighting this battle. I was launched through the air, closing my eyes. I waited to hit the ground with a thud like usual and for my horse to take off running. However, this time was different. I could not get up right away and just "walk it off.” When my trainer came to my side and helped me up my head was pounding. I walked warily to her house and collapsed on the couch. Waking up in the hospital with my dad sitting by my side was, and will always be a scary memory. I knew I had fallen off my horse, but after that my memory was like it had been erased. My father said I had a concussion and wouldn't be able to ride for three weeks. That bothered me, no riding for that much time will become frustrating. The first question that came out of my mouth was, "Is he okay?"

My father looked at me as if I were crazy. He knew though that all I cared about was the well-being of Union. However, his facial expression was if he deprecated riding such a horse that can cause serious injuries. I came up with a logical excuse that since the weather had been brisk his energy had showed, a typical Thoroughbred trait. When the doctor appraised me, I realized that I sacrifice myself literally each time I mount horses, no matter if it's my own or someone else's.

After three weeks slowly passed, I was ready to ride. Unlike me however, I scrupled getting on my own horse. This was a feeling I never thought I would experience. It took time to become comfortable in the saddle again no matter what horse I was riding. My trainer put me on ponies, but the same feeling rushed through my body. After ten years of riding I could not believe this was actually happening. After two months of consistent riding, I was back to my normal, my daring self. This made me think though that anything could happen while doing something you truly love.

My Opinion

Running for Scissors was definitely a memoir that will stick in my head for a while. One main question while I was reading came up quit frequently. It was, How could a mother possibly give away her son like that? I am sure that the worst memories Augusten Burroughs had were censored from his memoir, but his stories included were just enough to give me the chills. The memoir overall was greatly written and I give a lot of credit to the author to share his story with an audience. Although I wasn’t sure which data was true or changed, the story of his childhood was told successfully. His change of life was under duress, but he adapted. He went through his adolescence trying to exonerate the things he possibly did wrong to have his mother send him away. No child ever wants to feel that his parents or parent gave up on them. It is the worst possible feeling for a child to experience. The psychiatrist that usurped him will leave a print on his life forever.

Seasons

The flowers will soon burgeon as springtime arrives. The most salient part of the transfer from winter to spring is when the leaves come back onto the trees. There is no longer ice or slush that forms over the pavement, which makes it difficult to drive. Although I love the winter, I am getting ready for the softball season, which starts in March. Also, since the ground is frozen I can no longer ride my hose, Union. Being patient for the warm weather to come is sometimes frustrating, but I still find time to enjoy the cold weather, especially when it snows. The beautiful colors of the flowers will no doubt elicit a positive mood to the community. Also, gardeners will no longer waive their gardens; they will have to water them everyday and make sure certain plants get enough sunlight. I always wonder how they are able to make the flowers grow with such beauty. I was never good at gardening. My way of gardening is a complete ruse. Instead of using real flowers, I hang the baskets of fake flowers. Although when planting flowers they succumb to grow, I enjoy watching them bloom in their own way. It makes spring time special from all the other seasons.

Running with Scissors

Augusten Burroughs, the author and main character of the memoir, “Running with Scissors” lived an odd childhood. Burroughs’s mother, a lady of peculiar views, gave his son away to her psychiatrist. What Burroughs’s thought to be an ephemeral amount of time he had to live with this family, turned out to be his whole childhood life. However, this psychiatrist is not one you would normally believe is licensed to help people in emotional distraught. She is obsessed with Santa; her Christmas tree stays up until the end of the summer even though it was of tawdry quality. The doctor’s children are a few patients and a pedophile, who lives in the shed in her backyard. Substances such as Valium were used to ease their lifestyle. Burroughs, at age twelve, had to figure out real life verses fantasy before his life was allayed. He was forced to coalesce with these people who he knew were abnormal and to also come out of the nadir of his life. Also, the way Burroughs explained how he left, it was almost as if his mother exonerated him.

"Nicky"

Punching into work on a Sunday morning is not something I felt like doing yesterday. It was just one of those days where I just felt the need to sleep. As I walked into the main ward I could not take my eyes of of this one Doberman mixed puppy. He had been put up for adoption because his owner's could not afford the surgery he needed. His fur was disheveled and the spirit in his eyes were drained. Figuring in my head that I had four hours to work; I'd spend an hour of my time playing with this puppy (that had like four different names depending on which doctor was working with him). Hmm, which name should I call you I thought as I took a leash and opened his cage. There was Bob, Nicky, Murray, or Rocky. Calling him by each of the names I chose Nicky because his ears went up when I called him that. When Nicky walked out of his cage he was saturnine and walked with his head down. We picked a spot on the floor, I sat down and he laid down putting his head in my lap. Moving the brush through his coat seemed to calm him. His eyes closed in enjoyment, I did not stop. His alluring history made me want to find out more about him. I paged the doctor that was looking after him today. She explained to me that he was hit by a train and that his back left leg had to be skin graphed. This poor puppy. Waking up to the story the doctor told me, I became garrulous as I began talking to the dog about my weekend. He seemed to appreciate the attention. After taking him for walk I put Nicky back in his cage with a bone. The life in his eyes began to flourish. I smiled and told him I would be back later to say bye for the night. In the animal hierarchy at the hospital, he soon moved up to be number one. A few weeks later the doctor that saved Nicky adopted him. He is at the hospital every day so I get to see his transformation from a "hit by car" dog to a healthy one.

Homework

My ipod music, my television, and my laptop impeded my progress towards productive studying. My parents used to importune for me to complete my homework before dinner time, but I would always procrastinate. Throughout middle school I continued on this path, not realizing what it would do to me in the future. Implicit assumptions were made that my homework would be completed, but I would never know when it would be completed. Once entering high school I quickly realized completing my studies in an unstructured way would not suffice. Sophomores would tell their stories of staying up till two A.M. with such brio; I'd start my homework during lunch time. Noting the homework that needed to be completed in my agenda pad allowed me to stay on task and organized. Now every time I heard my friends talk about how late they went to bed, I exhort them to stay focused and get the work done. Going to sleep at 10:30 on a school night gets me ready for a new day and the whole week.

Autumn

One of my favorite seasons, besides summer of course, is Autumn. The nuance of leaves that eventually fall to the ground is an unbelievable sight. As I look out of my classroom window the trees are the first objects I look at. Yellow, orange, and red bouquets stick out from the large trunks of the trees. The unbelievable sight of these leaves sometimes precludes me from finishing my work. Because of the slight impede, I have to spend more time on my homework until it is completed. There are just some objects that capture the eye, such as these leaves. I hold the beautiful nature culpable for being distracted; the leaves don't stay like this all year-round!