essay...
i had already written my essay that is due in a few hours.
but when i sat down to type it. i just couldnt bring myself
to actually think about turning in another paper full of bs.
so i wrote it how i wanted to.
not really the assignment at all
but im happier with this paper
that i can ever remember being with
a homework assignment before.
and i dont care if i get i bad grade.
the catharsis alone was worth it.
note: this is a lot of reading so dont click if that will piss you off. also i wrote some things that might hurt peoples feelings. that is how i felt "at the time" and my opion on the subject in question is constantly changing. so i dont want any pissy comments. and people stoping talking to me because of it.
Pieces
I have changed my mind. An everyday occurrence for me. But this time it will
concern someone else for once. You. The reader. The decider. The one who will rate my worth, make up your own opinion of me, based on these words. So I changed my mind. I am choosing to be honest. I know there are a lot of people like me who can write and essay and get an A or B with little or no effort. I am not doing that this time. I had originally mapped out a great story. Telling how I overcame hardship and grew through sacrifice and blah blah blah. The same thing every story is about. And though it was a true event and though it would have gotten me a fairly high grade. I did not really believe myself. So right now im making a choice. Picking a path. And the route that I take will lead me to person I will become. The choices that we make are pieces of us. Like brush strokes in an enormous painting. And when I make them I do not look at the whole picture. Just that stroke, just that moment and I make it as precise and perfect as I can.
Taking a step back I look at this “masterpiece” that I should have by now. I’ve barely lived so it is not vary large. But it does not have to be for me to know that it is all wrong. Not all bad, just nothing like I had planned or hoped or tried to produce. Every stroke, that seemed so right, creates a image that is nothing at all like the beauty I had envisioned it would be. And it starts me thinking. How can these “right” choices make such an ugly outcome? Maybe they were not right at all. For example I have never done drugs. Any kind, ever. Which seemed like it would be best choice that I could have made. Well then why am I not as happy as a lot of people who do? Or this. I try to be as nice to everyone that I can, sincerely nice. People tell me they love me, that I make them laugh, make them happy. But I do not feel like I have any real friends. I do what you are suppose to do to have people like you. But I don’t think there is a single person that I fully trust or rely on or can confide in.. These choices, these paths, these brush strokes, however good and right they are, are making one sad and unsightly picture.
Who am I to blame for this mess of a life that I see on this canvas? I do not believe in luck or fate or serendipity, or passing the buck. Those are just cop outs in order to make us feel better for our mistakes and deny us credit for our accomplishments. So it all boils down to one explanation; free will. I am the artist, I live this life and it is up to me to make sure that it is everything I want it to be. I have done a very poor job so far. Even things I chose to do are adding to the hideousness of this piece. I can change. I can make it better. Paint over the rough spots. Add a couple more flowers. Make it so pretty it hurts to look at. But then again, what if I can not? What if even by the time I am all out of space, and all out of paint, and all out of breath. My life’s work is still nothing that I had wanted it to be. Would it even be worth finishing if that were to happen? That is a big choice, one that is not my place to decide. So what if I end up with an ugly painting? I painted it! These are my choices, my trials, my errors, my successes all of them pieces of me.
I step away from this painting. It is not perfect, but neither am I. Not beautiful, or glamorous, or free of flaws. It is not sugar coated, or always happy, or always right or always kind. But it is honest, and most important it is a piece of me. And I can learn to be happy with it, and learn to be happy with myself. I look at this painting once more and this great feeling that things will be better soon floods over me. Because I see something, a new stroke, a recent choice the one to write this paper. The one to break away from routine and risk a good grade (since this does not even sound like an essay). Knowing that I can change, that I am in charge of what I do and how I do it makes me hopeful, makes me happy, and makes all these choices, this “painting”, these pieces of everything that I am a lot more beautiful.
fin.
but when i sat down to type it. i just couldnt bring myself
to actually think about turning in another paper full of bs.
so i wrote it how i wanted to.
not really the assignment at all
but im happier with this paper
that i can ever remember being with
a homework assignment before.
and i dont care if i get i bad grade.
the catharsis alone was worth it.
note: this is a lot of reading so dont click if that will piss you off. also i wrote some things that might hurt peoples feelings. that is how i felt "at the time" and my opion on the subject in question is constantly changing. so i dont want any pissy comments. and people stoping talking to me because of it.
Pieces
I have changed my mind. An everyday occurrence for me. But this time it will
concern someone else for once. You. The reader. The decider. The one who will rate my worth, make up your own opinion of me, based on these words. So I changed my mind. I am choosing to be honest. I know there are a lot of people like me who can write and essay and get an A or B with little or no effort. I am not doing that this time. I had originally mapped out a great story. Telling how I overcame hardship and grew through sacrifice and blah blah blah. The same thing every story is about. And though it was a true event and though it would have gotten me a fairly high grade. I did not really believe myself. So right now im making a choice. Picking a path. And the route that I take will lead me to person I will become. The choices that we make are pieces of us. Like brush strokes in an enormous painting. And when I make them I do not look at the whole picture. Just that stroke, just that moment and I make it as precise and perfect as I can.
Taking a step back I look at this “masterpiece” that I should have by now. I’ve barely lived so it is not vary large. But it does not have to be for me to know that it is all wrong. Not all bad, just nothing like I had planned or hoped or tried to produce. Every stroke, that seemed so right, creates a image that is nothing at all like the beauty I had envisioned it would be. And it starts me thinking. How can these “right” choices make such an ugly outcome? Maybe they were not right at all. For example I have never done drugs. Any kind, ever. Which seemed like it would be best choice that I could have made. Well then why am I not as happy as a lot of people who do? Or this. I try to be as nice to everyone that I can, sincerely nice. People tell me they love me, that I make them laugh, make them happy. But I do not feel like I have any real friends. I do what you are suppose to do to have people like you. But I don’t think there is a single person that I fully trust or rely on or can confide in.. These choices, these paths, these brush strokes, however good and right they are, are making one sad and unsightly picture.
Who am I to blame for this mess of a life that I see on this canvas? I do not believe in luck or fate or serendipity, or passing the buck. Those are just cop outs in order to make us feel better for our mistakes and deny us credit for our accomplishments. So it all boils down to one explanation; free will. I am the artist, I live this life and it is up to me to make sure that it is everything I want it to be. I have done a very poor job so far. Even things I chose to do are adding to the hideousness of this piece. I can change. I can make it better. Paint over the rough spots. Add a couple more flowers. Make it so pretty it hurts to look at. But then again, what if I can not? What if even by the time I am all out of space, and all out of paint, and all out of breath. My life’s work is still nothing that I had wanted it to be. Would it even be worth finishing if that were to happen? That is a big choice, one that is not my place to decide. So what if I end up with an ugly painting? I painted it! These are my choices, my trials, my errors, my successes all of them pieces of me.
I step away from this painting. It is not perfect, but neither am I. Not beautiful, or glamorous, or free of flaws. It is not sugar coated, or always happy, or always right or always kind. But it is honest, and most important it is a piece of me. And I can learn to be happy with it, and learn to be happy with myself. I look at this painting once more and this great feeling that things will be better soon floods over me. Because I see something, a new stroke, a recent choice the one to write this paper. The one to break away from routine and risk a good grade (since this does not even sound like an essay). Knowing that I can change, that I am in charge of what I do and how I do it makes me hopeful, makes me happy, and makes all these choices, this “painting”, these pieces of everything that I am a lot more beautiful.
fin.