Elementary School Potato Chips

As erroneous as it may be, in my head hearing, “Ella, you need to gain weight” is synonymous “Ella, please start eating lots of organic junk food.” So in yet another attempt to gain back the weight I lost in Europe, I sat down with a bag of Route 11 Barbecue Potato Chips this afternoon.

As a child in D.C. Route 11 Potato Chips were my favorite. But the company is fairly regional, and it’s rare to see them very far outside of the Shenandoah Valley area. In fact, I don’t think I’ve had them for upwards of five years. But when I went to West Virginia a few weeks ago, I snagged several bags at a deli to eat when I returned home.

Route 11 Potato Chips were once a elementary lunchtime staple, broken into small shards in a plastic bag that inevitably ended up smushed at the bottom of my brown bag lunch. I preferred them to cookies or sweets, and everyday in the cafeteria I would very carefully save them for last. I once even managed to get my parents to take me to the factory where we could buy their “exclusive” flavors like fried chicken and watch the workers toss the potato slices into the fryers. Needless to say, this afternoon I was very excited to eat the chips.

So at around two when I was ready for a treat to distract me from the endless headache of trying to submit college forms, I grabbed a bag and sat back down in front of the computer to snack on them as I worked.

In retrospect, I suppose that I should have known that I would end up crying. And sadly, it wasn’t that nostalgic now-those-were-the-days crying.

The moment I put the first chip in my mouth, I felt like I was eight-years-old again and absolutely miserable. Those chips tasted like the bullying and isolation of my elementary school years. They tasted like loneliness and desperation, like purposely slicing my thumb on a can so that I could go to the nurses office rather than spend twenty minutes sitting at a sticky table and staring at my Route 11 potato chips and a dry PB&J sandwich on whole grain bread while I got kicked in the shins and mocked. They tasted like hiding in the stairwell to avoid going back to class, like being disliked by nearly every one of my teachers, like sitting for hours in the nurse’s office because I got kicked out of the classroom for the second time that day.

Each bite tasted of the misery I have worked so hard to bury underneath my happy memories of playing with my neighbors. Lee, Zach, Joseph, Pippa, and Beth took that pain away every afternoon and weekend, and I try to focus on the hijinks I got up to with them instead of school. It works most of the time, too. If I box it away tightly enough, it’s almost as if it never happened. I’m determined that my childhood is going to be thought of as happy.

But the chips uncovered the pain–made it a reality again–and all I wanted to do was throw up. I wanted to have to kneel in front of the toilet, holding my hair back, and retch until the chips were all gone, and I could forget about the pain again. Just make it go away.

However, I made a promise to myself recently to be more brave, to do the things that are painful and scare me without flinching or backing down, so I finished that bag of chips. I ate every last bite of that sorrow, and I forced myself not to cry.

I rolled up the empty bag to throw out when I finished my forms, stuffed it out of sight behind the monitor, and got back to work. It was time to move on. I’m not in elementary school anymore, and I’m not going to let myself wallow in the past, no matter how acute those sensory memories can be. I’ve got strong mental duct tape to seal back up that unhappy memories box, and a new vow to never eat Route 11 Barbecue Potato Chips again. It’s going to be okay, I thought, Everything is going to be okay.

An Open Letter to my Cyber Bully

Dear Cyber Bully,

On January 29th, I had the extreme pleasure of being attacked on your tumblr.

I’ve been both mocked or bullied before (hey, elementary school, how are you?) but I have to say that this is the first time it has come from someone I have never even interacted with before. We may have been in the same grade, but we haven’t said so much as said “excuse me” to each other when walking down the crowded high school halls.

While I often find that turning the other cheek is effective when someone is heckling me face-to-face, this internet attack is something new. And seeing as my blog traffic has gone up a bit and I’ve gained quite a few new subscribers in the days following the attack, seemingly as the result of your post, I figure you deserve a response.

Let’s start with reading your post in its entirety. The link is here, and I’ve posted screenshots of it below, in case you ever decide–as you should–to remove it.

(A Note to My Non-Cyber-Bully Readers: This girl uses plenty of profanity, so if you aren’t a fan of rude language, please feel free to skip it, and I’ll address specific parts and censor her cursing in the rest of my post.)

Ignoring the bad spelling and grammar, I’d like to begin by pointing out that your entire post seems to be inspired by your concern that my blog has recently been better than yours. My years of being bullied have proven that in most cases, malice results from personal insecurities, and this case appears to be no exception.

In your post, you chose to refer to me as Luna Lovegood. First of all, I’m quite flattered that you’ve chosen to refer to me by a pseudonym. Most of the time, bullies just go straight for my name, and don’t even allow me to have a scrap of privacy to prevent additional mockings by outside observers.

Next, you clearly do not understand your Harry Potter references. When you’re attacking people, it’s best to compare someone to something or someone else who has many bad qualities. Luna Lovegood is about as far off the mark as you could get.

Luna is, in fact, a hero. I love being compared to someone who does not fear criticism for always being themselves, makes great sacrifices for their friends, fearlessly stands up to evil, and is known for her kindness, loyalty, and intelligence. Being called Luna is a compliment, and I thank you for it.

Furthermore, you know the girl who plays her in the movies? Evanna Lynch? I admire her just as much as the character. She’s a wonderful role model for girls everywhere. You probably didn’t know that she too suffered from anorexia and that I find her recovery and later success incredibly inspiring.

And you surely don’t know about her involvement in the Harry Potter community. She helps the Harry Potter Alliance raise money and awareness about anorexia and other problems that plague the world. Just check out this article she wrote! She also corresponds with her fans on Twitter. She goes to conferences and is a fan first, an actress second. There is just no way that comparing me to Luna Lovegood could be considered an insult.

Moving along, you call me our grade’s “basket case.” Ouch! At least “basket case” is a little more creative than crazy. You’re separating yourself from the crowd, and as the title of your tumblr suggests, you’re all about individuality.

However, seeing as you’ve chosen to go after me for being different than the norm, it seems like your rejection of conformity is a little hypocritical. But we all have a little work to do on that front. I know that sometime I end up doing what’s popular instead of what I actually like.

I’m sure that you’re choosing to mock me and my struggle with mental illness because you might also be feeling upset. You’re stuck at a college you hate, and you seem annoyed by almost every aspect of being there. It’s terrifying and frustrating to feel so trapped. I’m not at your college, so I can’t speak to your experience, but I can say that I know what that feels like to be stuck in place that I’ve hated and can’t escape.

At a mental hospital you can’t even take some time for yourself, text friends, or use a computer, and it’s not exactly the place where you go to learn or make friends. Six months of my Junior year were spent in a partial hospitalization program or an outpatient facility. I hated being away from my friends in high school, and I lost the ability to participate in many of the activities I loved. It was often easy to be cynical and judgmental. On the good days of feeling trapped, you’re frustrated by your limitations and miss your previous life, and on the bad ones, it becomes impossible to see any positive aspects of your imprisonment and everyone who you interact with there is horrid.

However, being under a lot of emotional pain is not a free pass to be cruel to others. Every time I felt particularly frustrated, I became, as I dubbed it, “viciously nice” and complimented everyone and everything I even slightly liked and tried to list the positives of being stuck in my situation. The angrier I was, the nicer I outwardly became, and when I did that, the bad feelings had a way of quickly vanishing. I realized that there were things I actually really liked about the experiences. It’s a bit of an unconventional coping mechanism, but it quickly became my favorite and most effective. Perhaps you might find it helpful, as well.

In reference to calling me a basket case, you say, “Maybe that’s a rude thing to say, but we’ve all seen that I clearly have no problem with being rude. B@#!#$* should just be tougher. Enuff said.”

Once again, my suspicion is that perhaps when you write that people need to be tougher, you’re talking to yourself. I bet that you feel guilty and a little weak to have the emotional reactions that you do. You’ve probably been hurt by other people’s rudeness before and wished that you were strong enough to handle it without feeling upset.

Rudeness is often painful for the victim, and it is okay for you to let yourself feel hurt. The longer you bury your feelings, the more you will perseverate on whatever instigated them. However, if you let yourself cry or talk to someone about it, you’ll feel better. Stop pretending to be an unfeeling wall. Everyone has their own insecurities and emotions. You are never alone, and it doesn’t make you a better person for trying to ignore your feelings.

But for goodness sakes, stop taking your own negative feelings out on me. The only person who can make you feel better is yourself. I promise that the more you deride me, the more guilty you will feel. You’re clearly still thinking about your post, because you went back to edit and remove the link to my blog.

Perhaps it might be time to apologize and stop spending so much time blogging about what you don’t like about other people. Really, the world is a much kinder and healthier place when you focus on the positive things that surround you. Listing the things I love and what I’m grateful for has helped significantly with my own recovery, and it might also help you rid yourself of some of your anger and sadness.

Let’s continue to the part where you say that my “life was so entertaining and eventful to [everyone] in high school.” Of course, I could interpret this as being highly offensive. I’d hate to know that a lot of people were mocking me behind my back, but I recently realized that this means that you and everyone else who was fascinated by my life actually cared about me, even if it was in a very backwards and bizarre manner. What I did mattered, and it’s nice to know that I’ll be remembered. I’d much prefer to be known than be considered just another person to pass in the hall.

You go onto assume that I would have great stories to tell! I certainly do have your attention! How nice! But I’m not sure what kind of stories you’d like.

Maybe you’d love to hear about my experiences with psychotropic medications, different types of therapies, and mental hospitals. If you want to take a look at that, I’d suggest you go through the archives, as there’s plenty of those types of posts there. I’ve got a handy search bar and two different ways to access the archives on the right side of the page. I’ll even link to a post about that right here.

I’m not writing as much about that now because it’s the past. Many of these things happened years ago. I’m not the same very sick person I was in 2009. The best part about illness is healing, and that’s what’s been happening to me for quite a while now.

But if you aren’t interested in posts like those, how about you vote in my weekly reader-selected topic poll? That way, I’ll end up writing exactly what the majority of readers wants to read.

Then, you say, in reference to my blog, “what you’ll find is a third person account of her life through a semi-non-fictional character with a pointless alias.” Third-person account? Semi-non-fictional character? Pointless alias? How much of my blog did you read?

Sure, I sometimes refer to myself in the third person, but it’s only when Ella’s joking. Also, this is really me. I’m not a character. If you really knew me, you would know that what I write here is an absolutely truthful “account” of my life. When I talk about getting my hair cut or getting a whisk stuck between my teeth at the age of ten, I’m not lying. How about the next time you come home, I’ll show you my new fringe, the tiny gap in my teeth from the whisk tines, and maybe even the whisk itself. Would you believe me then?

But I think that the best part of that sentence is the end. You tell me that I write with “no embellishment or flare at all.” After I got over having the quality of my writing insulted, I had to laugh.

First, “flare?” Really, “flare?” When did I become a sinking ship sending up emergency signals or a motorist at night with a broken down car on the edge of the highway? I may be wrong, but from here on out, I’m just going to assume that you mean “flair.”

Second, I wonder whether you have ever seen the movie Office Space. Well, check out this quote:

Joanna (Jennifer Aniston): You know what, Stan, if you want me to wear 37 pieces of flair, like your pretty boy over there, Brian, why don’t you just make the minimum 37 pieces of flair?
Stan, Chotchkie’s Manager: Well, I thought I remembered you saying that you wanted to express yourself.
Joanna: Yeah. You know what, yeah, I do. I do want to express myself, okay. And I don’t need 37 pieces of flair to do it.
[flips off Stan]

I, too, want to express myself, and I don’t need your definition of “embellishment” or “flare” to do it. Besides, who needs embellishment? The way you say it, it sounds like you want me to lie and change the facts so that all of my posts seem grandiose. That just isn’t going to happen. I write what’s true, and if it doesn’t live up to your level of dramatic, then so be it. I like my honesty, and I’m sticking with it.

Next, you say that my blog is “so boring.” It’s nice to see that you require both bold and italics to describe the quality of my blog. I can almost hear your eye roll.

However, you do try to put in some facts to back up your argument. You ask, “who the ^&*$ wants to read about the day-to-day life of someone whose late night excitement is detailed as emotional support from their cat and enjoys spreading the news about Starbucks cakes?”

Alright.

As of right now, I have 59 subscribers. I’m not even counting the people who don’t have WordPress accounts. Including those readers, I have upwards of 75 people regularly checking my blog. They’re kind, empathetic readers who care about what I have to say. They like to read what I write. It’s worth some of their precious time.

Furthermore, I got 21,700 hits just from January to the end of November last year. That’s about twice the number of people at your school, including all of the graduate students. This blog is popular and has a loyal following.

But you also did something that I really don’t like. You were very selective about the facts you chose to use. Of course my blog is going to look boring if your make it look like I only talk about cats and baked goods! But you failed to mention any of my book reviews, the sermon I wrote and gave at my church this past spring, my anorexia, free-range parenting, and traveling posts, or funny childhood stories. What about my creative writing? I’ve won awards for it. Those posts I just linked to have gotten dozens and dozens of hits. Finally, the award-winning author Laini Taylor reads and enjoys my blog. People like her don’t just read and praise anything.

Additionally, I heard on good authority that for a while you had upwards of seven cats. Wouldn’t you of all people understand the importance of loving your pets?

However, it’s your next paragraph that perhaps confuses me the most. You say “listen, I’m not trying to undeservedly offend by making personal attacks.” How on earth is calling me a “basket case” not a personal attack? I would love to hear how questioning my sanity isn’t personal.

Let’s take a look at the rest of that paragraph, as well:

“Luna Lovegood clearly has some larger scale problems to cope with, for which everyone has sympathy, but seriously, you are begging for backlash when you start posting pretentious quasi-intellectual b%#*$@!& on the internet for everyone to see. She wants to be a published author; if she can’t take my literary criticism then there’s literally no way she can make it in the real world.”

Great! I’m thrilled that you say that people have sympathy for me, but here it sounds like you are pitying me. Trust me, I can hold my own. I’ve been doing it for years, and if you knew me at all, you’d know that. But we’ve already covered the fact that we’ve never even had a conversation or shared any experience prior to your post.

What about the rest of that sentence? I’m not sure how I’m “begging” for backlash. I rarely write about controversial topics. And how is anything I’m writing “quasi-intellectual?” I don’t talk about academic or abstract matters very often, which the last time I checked, is the definition of intellectualism.

I mean, I like to write in complete sentences and use good grammar, and I’m pretty smart, but I don’t think that “quasi-intellectual” is the best way to describe my blog. Many people have blogs similar to mine, and I have yet to see them receive unwarranted attacks. In fact, you’re the only person who has ever said this about Eleanor Called Ella.

I understand that putting things on the internet leaves me open to all sorts of descent, and I’m ready to deal with deserved criticism, but I fail to see how anything you’ve written is constructive, deserved, and not cyber-bullying.

And yes, you are right, I do want to be a published author. I want that very much. I devote many, many hours of every day to writing. I treat it like my full-time job. And I also know that I will need to be able to take negative reviews of my works. But what you are doing is not, by any extension of the word, “literary criticism.”

Literary criticism is the study and interpretation of literature. I’m frankly very flattered that you would insinuate that my blog is literature, but let me be the first person to tell you that it’s not. It’s the rare post that I think is good enough for publication, and even then, those posts would need heavy revisions.

I just keep a blog for fun. I can fool around with words here and experiment. I get to chat with the often anonymous internet. I don’t have high aspirations of perfection or literary merit, so you’re going to need to choose a different word.

I am, however, open to all sorts of constructive critiques. If you need an example of how to offer that, how about you read this post, Let’s Go Dancing!, and take a look at Sadie’s comment. What she wrote is helpful and good criticism, and sounds like what you meant to say to in that sentence. Unfortunately, what you’ve actually done is both bullying and pointless. It’s like you’re pointing at my blog and screaming, “THIS SUCKS!” without backing anything up with fact. Imagine if you did that at an art fair or a poetry reading. You’d look like the insane one.

But if you really do mean literary criticism, where are the themes, symbolism, motifs, and characters you find unsatisfying in my work? And if you just want to offer a review, what specifically bothers you about my posts? Please, tell me. That’s one of the reasons why I have a comments section.

If you do offer me a proper constructive critique, I can assure you that I will be able to take it. I’ll legitimately consider what you have to say and will probably edit the post to reflect your suggestions. Taking constructive criticism is how you actually do make it in the real world of writing. In fact, there are people called editors, whose entire job is instructing writers on how to improve their work. I’m totally ready for criticism in the “real world.”

After that, you start to wrap up your post and say, “at least have the decency to make your life sound funny or dramatic or substantive so people will care to read what you have to say.”

But we already covered that one, haven’t we? If you’ve forgotten, all you need to do is scroll up to see all those stats and facts I gave you about the people who read my blog. People seem to find me funny and substantive.

And isn’t substantive kind of the opposite of dramatic when it’s used in this sense? I’d have to be as hypocritical as you to be able to handle that level of irony.

Then, to end your post, you build yourself and your blog up. You write, “HEY WAIT! Is that what I’ve been doing the past three months?” and announce that you’re back to blogging regularly and have your priorities in check.

Hey, we all need a personal pep talk sometimes. I often feel bad about my writing and need to remind myself of my successes before sitting down to work. Visualizing success is really helpful. Athletes do it all the time. But I have never done it by publicly writing about how horrible someone else is and how everything I produce is better. I don’t even say things like that. I’d suggest that next time you need some motivation, you instead tell your friend Rosey that you’d like some encouragement and skip the whole bullying other people stage.

Honestly, what you just did in your malicious, bullying post was really very sad. It tells me that you feel so insecure about yourself and your own writing that you can’t even do positive self-talk, and I’m very sorry that you’re that unhappy. I also read some of your other tumblr posts, and many of them are just as mean as this one. It must be rough feeling trapped at a college you hate. I’d be miserable in a situation like that, too.

Perhaps it’s time to start thinking about finding a therapist or someone else you can work with until the school year is over. Boston has loads of psychologists near campus or easily accessed via the T. The student health center will also have free options if you can’t afford someone outside. If you have questions about different styles of therapies, I’d be happy to suggest one or give you more information. Click on “Contact Ella” at the top of the page to shoot me an email. I’ve always found working with therapists to be very helpful, and plenty of people see them even if they don’t have an acute mental illness.

Finally, please stop being so mean to the people you mention on your tumblr. Think about how it would feel like to have the tables turned. Try changing every “Luna Lovegood” in the post you wrote about me to your own name. How would you feel then? It would suck, right?

I am not afraid to tell you that I cried when I saw what you wrote. Knowing that someone disliked me and my writing enough to devote an entire post to deriding my blog was incredibly upsetting. This certainly isn’t the first time I’ve been mocked by a classmate, but I was so hopeful that now that high school is long over, the heckling and bullying would have stopped. I thought that being legal adults would mean that we had the maturity not to be nasty to one another. Unfortunately, I was wrong.

I know that this post isn’t going to affect every bully or malicious person in the world, but if it makes you reconsider the things you have said and written, then it’s done its job.

And if you view my response as an invitation to start a giant internet debate, then you clearly don’t understand what I’ve written here at all.

Cheers,

Ella

If you want to check out my tumblr where I never cyber bully anyone, here’s the link: http://emleng93.tumblr.com/.

Ella’s Calling

This how I spent my evening. It was incredibly nice. If anyone knows of the profession where I can read and write all day and hang out with animals and children, please let me know. I think I’ve found my calling.

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In other news, I’ll get back on top of the blog tomorrow. There had been a charming cyber-bulling incident that threw me for a loop for over a week, but I’ve some good ideas for some longer posts for the rest of the week that will get published over the next few days.

As for the cyber-bullying, I quite frankly pity that girl. She sounds miserable. Still, cruelty is cruelty, and her behavior is inexcusable, no matter what her emotional state was at the time. Malice is never appropriate.

How to Shut Up a Bully in French Class

The reader selected post for last week was a tie between “How to Shut Up a Bully in French Class” and “Explorations in the World of Ella’s Nutrition.” And as I’ve spent a portion of this evening discussing classroom dynamics with my mother, I’m going to write about the former.

Freshman year of high school was terrifying. I began the year with few friends in my classes, and the high school was huge–two buildings and close to two thousand students. I was absolutely adrift. I don’t think I had any friends over at my house until about March, and if it weren’t for meeting Cecelia and hanging by Tal at lunch and Audrey in English and History, I would have turned into even more of a wallflower. My life revolved around reading in my bedroom and observing other people. It was pathetic and extremely depressing.

Ella at fourteen.

What I probably looked like 90% of the time, minus the billowing flannel nightgown.

Of course, none of this is to say that my life remained this way for the rest of high school. The next year, everything did an almost a complete 180° shift, and I was constantly busy and surrounded by friends.

But for that first year, I was downright miserable, and it showed, the way that those things often do. It wasn’t that I cried or walked around looking distraught, I was just wide-eyed, quiet, and very timid–a perfect combination for being bullied.

French class was the worst. I knew no one, there was extreme familial pressure to do well (We’re French for pity’s sake, Ella! You should be able to communicate with your grandmother and great-aunts by now!), and my fear of making mistakes was amplified tremendously. I was not going to be the person who made themselves look ridiculous in front of the entire class. And of course, the exact opposite was what went down.

There was a senior boy still stuck in French II, who despite not being particularly smart, had a mean streak a mile wide and managed to extremely intimidate me by flippantly breaking rules and constantly talking about being on the varsity wrestling team.

You should never doubt the fear that a letterman jacket with the words “Varsity Wrestling” can instill in a freshman girl. Some part of me was sure that if I did anything to offend him, I would be find myself with both arms pinned
behind my back and my face smashed into the linoleum. And having once slammed my face into a concrete curb while being chased by a vicious goose (true story), I was already intimately aware of the sensation of hitting your head on something hard enough to bruise your brain and nearly fracture your skull.

So a few weeks into the class, this kid (who amusingly shares a name with an ex-boyfriend, though the similarities stop there), discovered that I was rather vulnerable and very worried about grades.

He may have been seated all the way across the classroom, but he managed to find out what I scored on everything from homework to the midterm and mocked me for it. The teasing got worse whenever I had to give a presentation or do anything that required me to speak in front of the class. But having been heavily bullied in elementary school, I tried to do what I did then and just turned the other cheek. I figured that if I ignored him long enough, he’d give up.

Unfortunately, turning the other cheek does not work in all cases of bullying. I just had to ride out large portions of elementary school, and this charming boy was making it look like I was going to have to spend French class the same way. You can spend all the time in the world thinking about Jesus, the Scriptures, and the importance of forgiveness. You can even pray quietly in class for God to grant you the ability to forgive the bully and for the tormenting to stop, but it’s pretty rare that the bullying will entirely stop unless you also take some form of assertive action.

One day in the spring, I was staring our of the window thinking about the Confession of Sin while our teacher passed back our latest test. When my teacher dropped mine on my desk, I noticed that I had earned a 93%, despite all of the time I had spent studying. I had been worrying about the oral section for days, and seeing that I had, in fact, not done very well on that section was frustrating and very discouraging. I knew at that point that I was going to be spending the summer in France studying at a university and living with a host family. My current speaking skills needed quite a bit of improvement. Close to six weeks alone in a country where I didn’t speak the language was already stressing me out. So I tugged on my hair, bit my lip, and tried very hard not to cry.

At this point, the boy had already noticed not only my grade, but also that I was close to crying. But as he began to mock my reaction, I realized something: I have a high A average in this class, I thought, He is nearly failing it for a third time. Putting aside the morals of bullying, he just doesn’t have the authority from which to criticize my grades. And I knew what I needed to do.

I looked up, tucked my hair back behind my ear, and said in a voice loud enough to be heard by him and most of the class, but still be ignored by the teacher, “Hey, at least I get ninety-threes. When was the last time you even got close to an A?”

A few people made ooooh’s and laughed, but he just opened and shut his mouth like an unintelligent goldfish. I turned back to my test and neatly filed it away in my binder, smiling a little at my jab. Score one for Ella.

And while I wish that I could say that he never did anything to me again, that would be a lie. But the teasing certainly did decrease, and I got better at standing up for myself.

Years later, I’ve continued to think about the incident–my joy to have come up with my own stinging retaliation, his shock, and the bullying before and after–and I must admit that I actually feel bad for him. Being a senior in a room full of freshman and sophomores must be rough, particularly if you are very close to failing the course. You can’t graduate without fulfilling your foreign language requirements, and I’m sure he was worried about not being able to leave in June. No one wants to be in high school forever, and I also know that when I feel stressed and ashamed, I don’t always act with grace.

This is not to say that I’m okay with what he did–hurting people, no matter how you are feeling is wrong and deplorable–but I understand how he must have felt. No one ever acts without a motivation, and that motivation is almost always emotion-based. I hope that my response to his bullying didn’t further harm his own self-esteem, and I wonder now if it would have been better to just continue turning the other cheek, even if what he said upset me. But such is the way of the past and former choices–what happened happened, and getting stuck debating what could have been is never productive.

Here’s the poll for next week’s post.

Rules: You can only vote once and select up to four choices before hitting “vote.” Unfortunately, if you hit “vote” without selecting multiple options, you will be unable to go back and select other choices as well. I’m sorry, but that’s the way the poll website runs. Additionally, when I did have unlimited voting on previous polls, some people used it to vote upwards of eighty times for their favorite. And as I’d prefer for this blog to run as fairly and democratically as possible, rules have become a necessity.

Happy voting!

You can also find me collecting lovely images and words on tumblr at http://emleng93.tumblr.com/. I’d love for you to follow me on my trek into the wilds of tumblr.