Thoughts from ME

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Sometimes I wish the world was fair, People were nice, the air was clear. Sometimes I wish hating would end, That people would love, care, and befriend Sometimes I wish children would stay The same in their own simple little way. Sometimes I wish they would stay small, Stay oblivious, away from it all. But that can't be, for children too Must learn and grow and find anew Things to enjoy, to have, to hold, To become older people, to become old. Then when its time and their story is ended, They can go home to their endings intended; To be with their family, finally resting, To be with God, loved ones Resting.

While reading Jesus the Christ by James E. Talmage, I felt inspired to write down my testimony of the Savior. I would like to share it here also. My name is Melissa Elizabeth Snell and I am a daughter of the Most High God. He is my Father. I know with no doubt that His holy Son, Jesus the Christ, is the Saviour of all mankind. He is the Redeemer. My Advocate with the Father. By choice and love, he came to the earth to atone for the sins of the world. It is through him that one day I will be able to return to live with my Heavenly Father in glory and happiness. I know Jesus of Nazareth was born of Mary. As a Man on the earth he preached, and healed, and did all things for man because of his great and eternal love. He carried the weight of the world as he knelt, bled, and cried in the Garden of Gathsemane. He was betrayed by Judas and given to evil men who placed him on the cross. I know that on that cross, he asked the Father to forgive those who had hurt him. I know that while bleedi

I love the story presented by Edmond Rostand in his wonderful tale of Cyrano de Bergerac. It's such a heart breaking love story that one can't help be enthralled by it til the very end. This man, so in love that he will do anything for her to the extent of crossing enemy lines and coaching a stupid beauty yet unable to proclaim love for fear of rejection. It's a classic story but his fear is born from facial features. His nose, grotesquely out of porportion to the rest of him, the bain of his existence and everything... I love Cyrano and it's so sad how great a man he is and yet he can't love the one thing he would give anything to have. It's tragic and I cry every time at the end when he reads a letter of Roxane's that proves to her the whole time it was he not Christian who truly loved her for her and not for her face and what not. When she realizes it's him, when it dawns on her how much he loved her all these years and she him just to lose him within

In today's Newsweek posted on Msn.com was a certain article that caught my attention. For a while now, media has caught on to the very odd fact that people, mostly women, have an interesting pull towards vampires. Why? Well here's a piece of the article that stood out to me - mostly because, personally I don't get it the intense attraction that has pulled people into reading millions of books, watching multiple tv dramas, watching movies beginning in 1897 and continuing into today. But it's that potential for death that gives vampires a lot of their sexual edge. "It's kind of like autoerotic asphyxia, except that's real," says Katherine Ramsland, professor of psychology at DeSales University. "In terms of fantasy, the vampire mystique is 90 percent sexual. It's a metaphor for dangerous sex. Because if it goes wrong, you're gone ." For her book, Piercing the Darkness, Ramsland spent several years researching the rabid vampire fan, thos

It is constantly interesting to me how as humans we miscommunicate. It is true that communication is the key to every good relationship. Recently I have witnessed how micommunication can poorly affect a family atmosphere in the matter of minutes. It is awful to think how easily it is for Satan to grab a hold of something so little and toss it around like pizza dough into something large. Why is it that we have such a hard time just Talking to people? Explaining our feelings, our side of the situation, our perspective? The truth is something that has become hard to accept at face value. It must first be perverted and distorted, than painfully reconstructed - if it is possible to do so. Why is it that we find it so hard to tell people what we are thinking? Is it because we ourselves find that we are hard to talk to? Or is it just the way we have been raised? With the media the way it is...but then again, how is it we pin everything on the media? Whos fault is it? For surely the fault l

Oh my gosh, college is so freaking expensive! AHH! So I'm pretty confident I'll be going into Linguistics somethin or other and I would like to do my MA at UC Berkeley, Yale, Brown, U of Chicago, or U of Maryland since they have the top programs (minus Chicago I think) but out of state tuition is sooo much money! I'll die I'm sure hahaha

So I haven't said anything in here for a while so, here goes :) School is going fine, especially now that I am making room for everything I should be doing &c. Here's a short story I wrote for my creative writing class, if you can't figure out what it's about than you're stupid... just kidding of course! I Know the Boy I see him through the window. He sits, a look of concern on his youthful features. Kind hands hold the large volume. His eyes, bright as they reflect the light form the sole candle lit on the desk, pause on a place. Slowly, he sets the book down and touches his face, closing his eyes. Afraid he would go to sleep, I walk across the front of the house, making noise on the wood there. His attention is captured and I meet his eyes with mine. I watch him get up from his seat. He pulls a coat off the wall and, placing it around his shoulders, he disappears from my view. In a moment, he appears once more, coming out of his home, a hand on the frame.

Refer to sideways graph 1. External Stimulus - Something happens externally [The alarm clock goes off] 2. Perception - You perceive the stimuli [You recognize that sound...] 3. Attitude - How do you feel about that stimuli? [Usually bad] 4. Deliberation - Inner debate about possible action [get up or not...this is the question.....is there a debate here?] 5. Choice - You make a decision [One word: SNOOZE] 6. Strategy - And decide how to carry it out [Decision made: Sleep rocks] 7. Direct action - You carry it out [Hand reached and hits the Snooze button] 8. Objective - hopefully your desires are reached [9 minutes of blissful nothingness...]

My graduation pictures were taken here (the first picture) I turn 20 in March. I can put my papers in for a mission in December. Fall semester may or may not mark my third year of college. Depending on my mission, I may or may not graduate in 2011. If I do serve, I will not graduate until 2012 in the Fall or something. I want to get my Master's degree sometime between 2013 and 2014 in English or Psychology. I want to get my Ph.D or Psy.D. a year later. I want to live within twenty minutes of my brothers Matthew and Jay; at some point a choice might need to be made for this decision. Soooo... We have six or so weeks left of this semester and I am excited to be done. My schedule has been nuts this semester. Sometimes, looking back, I wonder how I do it. But then, a small voice tells me. I didn't do it. He did. I'm trying to decide whether to return in the Fall. I will be working over the summer in Moab, Utah at a beautiful place that averages 110 degrees every day. Red C

I love Sense and Sensibility! Marianne and Elinor's character mesh is interesting and intriguing. I love the music. Especially the song that Marianne plays and sings on the piano forte "Weep You No More Sad Fountains" Lyrics that Marianne sings: "That now lies sleeping, Softly, softly, now softly lies sleeping. Sleep is a reconciling, A rest that Peace begets. Doth not the sun rise smiling When fair at e'en he sets Rest you then, rest, sad eyes, Melt not in weeping While she lies sleeping, Softly, softly, now softly lies sleeping."

The Leash of Fear I see the day before me as I observe the sun. I can see the athlete in the small girl as she runs. A kitten becomes a lion, a bud to a flower, a pup to a wolf, and I...anything, less I cower. Like the balance of a tight rope walker, fear holds tight with practice, with patience, it lets in dark but shutters light Though we would be our own master, it is not always so for fear, anxiety, hesitation The foe. And the runner stalls, the kitten cries, the bud dies, the pup calls, and the walker falls. Melissa Snell 11.I.08 Who are you really, Wanderer? I see your easy smile as you pass by me on the street, sandals on your sore feet Have you walked far, Wanderer? Like your feet, your face is covered in dirt that no amount of water can wash Are those scars on your hands, Wanderer? I see and I wonder. On the mountain the sun sets Are you headed home friend? Will I see you soon? If I don't, remember me as I pray to remember you, Wanderer. Melissa Snell 27.I.09

I am not a writer, Nor be I a poet. I fake it and laugh, but my fingers itch to write. Poems are harder, in a sense, than novels of any length, it calls for precision gone lax. Characters, setting, clothing, accents, this to there to here in my mind. I see them run. I smell their fear, I touch their faces in my dreams. I am their creator and I am their lover. I am their destroyer and they are my guide. Melissa Snell 29.I.09 What do you want to be when you grow up, up, up! A sailor, an astronaut a doctor, a pilot who goes ups, ups, ups! What do you want to do when you're old? Bake, bake bake! A mom, a ride, a provider of allowance who bakes, bakes, bakes! I want to be all, a singer, writer, psychologist who bakes, bakes, bakes! A doctor to kids' knees, the woman who picks them up, up, up! What do you want to be when you grow, be when you're old A family A wife to him, a mother to them, a doctor to it a friend to all. Melissa Snell 29.I.09

The following is a poem I wrote about the novel I never promised you a rose garden , an autobiographical novel by Joanne Greenberg 1964. Here's the link to read up about it from wikipedia: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/I_Never_Promised_You_a_Rose_Garden_(novel) I never promised you a Rose Garden. My health is my own. When you aren't looking, the me you know, fades. I am in a place all mine. Mine follow me, take care of me, the way you don't, can't, wish for, hope they will. Sometimes I am good, I am here. Most times I'm bad, I'm there. The place you left me is lonely and mean. The attendees watch me. I am no criminal. I'm a criminal to my own. Alone I'm with company. With company I am alone. I never promised you a Rose Garden. Melissa Snell 29.I.09

Today has just been a weird, kind of... LOOONG day... I haven't been quite as busy as I usually am. My acting class got out early so I walked Rach to the shuttle spot, dropped in on the Major Fair (Don't worry, I didn't change my major!) Then I tutored, went home for an hour and I am now in Creative Writing. I just thought about how scary the final will be for this class... My professor is a cute old man who writes a ton of poetry I just don't get. I think I am starting to like his work better though. Rachel has gone to CA for the weekend for her grandma's funeral. I don't really know why I included this information since the only person who reads my blog, whenever she does, is Rachel! My cousin Rachel, not roommate, is finally starting college in like July I think.

Today is the second weekend I've been in cold Rexburg and I already want to be home - it's silly really but the cold seeps into me no matter what clothes I'm wearing, no matter where I am. Jay has gone to Saudi Arabia but we e-mail, which is much better than nothing. Today Rachel and I made chocolate chip cookies! And we are watching Gone With The Wind - it's an awful movie I think but it's good... which is interesting since there's like 1 actually nice person in it! The cookies are delicious though :) I like my classes. I am taking six classes. My English classes are wonderful and most of my professors are really funny. Both of my English teachers are old and both said, "This is my last semester teaching." One meant the class and the other meant teaching in general. The latter is a cute old gentleman by the name of Donnell Hunter. He's quite old and came out of fifteen years of retirement to teach two semesters of Creative Writing. Every week I