The thought of being educationally “active” has recently reached an all time low, but can you blame me? The heat is sweltering and swine flu has taken over spring fever.
So what can I do, sit in those itchy classrooms aching for the drench of steady summer heat and that desperate craving for a cool breeze and expect myself to what, concentrate? Whatever, your days are numbered Immaculate Heart High School.
However, I recently partook in a Creative Writing assignment for my American Literature class, a class I recently began to stop despising. We were supposed to simply introduce a story from the exact moment we were living, (in this respect the moment of sitting in a wooden desk choking on polyester) but write it about an experience previous to the present. We had about ten minutes so I chose to write the first few things that came through my mind, however random or obviously inappropriate. Low and behold, I actually didn’t mind the story too much.
Read it and well, the rest i’ll leave to you…
“There is nothing like a Monday to keep you in a state of unnecessary panic before the clock even strikes midnight, to such an extent that Sunday’s shouldn’t even count as a weekend. Monday’s, for me, consist of coming to school, or dragging myself if we really want to go there, and starting the day in a robotic haze, relieving myself with daydreams and “What if’s” as much as I can. BUT, despite what your parents tell you about YOUR FUTURE YOUR FUTURE and TODAY WILL AFFECT TOMORROW, fuck it for now. What I’ve been meaning to tell you about, anyone about for that matter, was the day my earth stood still, the unforgettable yet impossible to remember time I fell in love with, a figment of my imagination. Yeah, you’re about to hear another fucking crummy love story so grab your hats and lenseless glasses if you can’t take it anymore. Trust me, I understand. Nonetheless, if you’d like to stay, know this: a story like mine holds no greater lessons on the other side of the door. You won’t find what you need and the greater epiphanies I experience will be altered and argued down to nothing. It’s a shitty story but it’s mine… I promise you that.”
Maybe I’ll write a novel, that’s a lie.
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