Another One Bites the Dust
Woke up this morning, arounf 3ish or so, to find that my computer had been plugged in all night. I know that this makes sense to some, but when there is an electrical storm like last night, it's not so good. I can't get it to start up. I can't get it to turn on at all, and I was the big guy that said "I'd don't need a warranty!" So I guess that's another k down the crapper, and now I have to replace everything that's on it, all my Sims2 stuff, all my papers for class, and my crazy clown picture that took forever to find. On the brighter side, I had my first Algebra test, breeze, and I have my first paper done for english comp I, which is posted below.
"Narrative"
I wake up again, grabbing my sheets from atop of me and notice it’s five in the morning again. I walk to my door and notice myself in the mirror on the back of my door. I look into my own eyes, and I look empty. I see myself and think, “Why do I wake up so early if I have no where to go?” and then I hear the dog bark and realize why I woke up in the first place. My dog, my little Japanese dog, barks so early in the morning because she's just a year old. I feed her in her little Garfield bowl and as she begins to eat, I fill her bowl with what is left of my bottled water pack in the fridge. After her feeding, I let her out in my small, yet quaint, backyard to let her do her business and let off some of her energy.
Again, I return to the mirror on the back of my door, and once more, look in to my eyes, eyes that seem to glimmer in ice-cold emptiness. I feel so empty, I feel so unmistakably unfilled. I hear my mother rise from her slumber and so I readily get dressed in order to go out for breakfast. Before I can ask her what she would like, she immediately dials a number and begins her day without me. For you see, my mother is in the process of migrating family here from Greece, and it has become rather difficult. I write down if she wants something from Panera, our favorite place to eat, and she whimpers a subtle, “I won’t have anything this morning. Just get yourself something” I grab a hat, something I'm never without, and quickly search for my wallet.
I get what money I have, get in her car, and I set off for breakfast. I begin on 15th street, just east of Utica, and I look in my rear view mirror. That's when I get struck again. I looked heavily into my mirror, seeing only my eyes. Those eyes that could haunt a ghost, eyes that could pierce a diamond. Once more, I gazed into them, and again I saw nothing. They were empty. If the saying is true, "The eyes are but a window to the soul", then what does that mean for me? If my eyes are empty, is it an extension to say that my soul is empty? By the time all of this passes out of my head, I've gone to McDonald's, picked up a bacon, egg, and cheese meal, and I am a few blocks from home. My mother will tell you that I am a deep person, but no one can ever tell me what I'm deep into in the first place.
As I sit down to begin eating, I think of everything that's happening in my life. I’m starting college, searching for a job, settling into a new house, working with my mother on migrating family to live with us, and applying to OSU. I look at what I have to do, and what seems like too much for some, I view it more as something that comes in age. After losing my father six years ago, I've always seen things, that would scare most, to be nothing more than a small task. As I finish my meal, I see another mirror. Now, my eyes were full. I realized that I have to just talk about how I feel to make my eyes full; to make my soul full. I see that, now more than ever, that I have to express my feelings to make myself feel whole.
"Narrative"
I wake up again, grabbing my sheets from atop of me and notice it’s five in the morning again. I walk to my door and notice myself in the mirror on the back of my door. I look into my own eyes, and I look empty. I see myself and think, “Why do I wake up so early if I have no where to go?” and then I hear the dog bark and realize why I woke up in the first place. My dog, my little Japanese dog, barks so early in the morning because she's just a year old. I feed her in her little Garfield bowl and as she begins to eat, I fill her bowl with what is left of my bottled water pack in the fridge. After her feeding, I let her out in my small, yet quaint, backyard to let her do her business and let off some of her energy.
Again, I return to the mirror on the back of my door, and once more, look in to my eyes, eyes that seem to glimmer in ice-cold emptiness. I feel so empty, I feel so unmistakably unfilled. I hear my mother rise from her slumber and so I readily get dressed in order to go out for breakfast. Before I can ask her what she would like, she immediately dials a number and begins her day without me. For you see, my mother is in the process of migrating family here from Greece, and it has become rather difficult. I write down if she wants something from Panera, our favorite place to eat, and she whimpers a subtle, “I won’t have anything this morning. Just get yourself something” I grab a hat, something I'm never without, and quickly search for my wallet.
I get what money I have, get in her car, and I set off for breakfast. I begin on 15th street, just east of Utica, and I look in my rear view mirror. That's when I get struck again. I looked heavily into my mirror, seeing only my eyes. Those eyes that could haunt a ghost, eyes that could pierce a diamond. Once more, I gazed into them, and again I saw nothing. They were empty. If the saying is true, "The eyes are but a window to the soul", then what does that mean for me? If my eyes are empty, is it an extension to say that my soul is empty? By the time all of this passes out of my head, I've gone to McDonald's, picked up a bacon, egg, and cheese meal, and I am a few blocks from home. My mother will tell you that I am a deep person, but no one can ever tell me what I'm deep into in the first place.
As I sit down to begin eating, I think of everything that's happening in my life. I’m starting college, searching for a job, settling into a new house, working with my mother on migrating family to live with us, and applying to OSU. I look at what I have to do, and what seems like too much for some, I view it more as something that comes in age. After losing my father six years ago, I've always seen things, that would scare most, to be nothing more than a small task. As I finish my meal, I see another mirror. Now, my eyes were full. I realized that I have to just talk about how I feel to make my eyes full; to make my soul full. I see that, now more than ever, that I have to express my feelings to make myself feel whole.