i don't agree with your definition of highschool...
this is my english essay...i love mrs. boynton's class...she inspires me with her very innovative teaching style...i feel like being dark right now but for some odd reason i can't. perhaps i shall listen to melancholy music till it stings...
our assignment was to model thoreau and his wanting to live deliberately. he tried this by going to the woods to achieve completer and utter solitude. i had to write about how exactly i would live my life deliberately, which was exceedingly fun. i have to type it out anyways so i'm just gonna type it on here.
quote: "i went to the woods because i wished to live deliberately"
"living life deliberately...or so i thought"- a challenge to your definition
by kathleen harrington
Life is monotony. We as teenagers are expected and directed by society to sit at a desk all day and fill our heads with ideas, facts, and thoughts that go undigested b/c they do not interest us, go out every weekend and predictably rebel from all we know, drag ourselves to school again every Monday and kill ourselves all week long constantly being tested and juggling appointments and activities, and I’m also coincidentally expected to fit all this in without making run on sentences? I think not! What if I don't wish to live this way? Who wrote the book on how I’m expected to act as a teen and made it law? in my opinion we need to be given some freedom! "Freedom", Mr. Adult says in a mocking tone, "Give a teen freedom and they'll run like a chaotic group of lemmings right off the side of a cliff, or rather, right off the side of their "right minds". Teens can't deal with freedom. They need schedules and activities and homework to keep them grounded and away from destroying their lives. Well Mr. Adult, that may be true for some, but as for Kathleen B. Harrington, she wants freedom! Away with monotony, and away with teen life! Mr. Thoreau, your woods is my England. If I were to live deliberately, oh what a delicious life i would lead! I'd empty my savings account and fly from this place as fast as the gingerbread man (except...I wouldn't get eaten) until I reached the sea. I’d sail away on an old leaky vessel into the inky black night. The voyage would be long (and undeveloped) and when I arrived from across the Atlantic with a nip in the breeze and optimism in the air, I would set off with no aspiration except to just "be". After feeling a bit lonely and tired of just "being", a rather rumpled newspaper would land right at my feet. What is that I’d see in the listings for rent? It’s a little flat with nooks, fireplaces, Georgian windows, and creaky wide-planked hardwood floors throughout! Why, isn't that convenient! So, I would call the number and they would be willing to rent it to me for five peanuts and a hair scrunchie, which is completely within my budget! Off I would go to inhabit my home of dreams. I would reach into my pocket for the large skeleton key and turn the creaky knob to find the loveliest little home screaming to be "re-invented". After months of combing flea markets and dumpsters my flat would be completely furnished. I will not waste time by going into details, but think Sherlock Holmes' study; burgundy walls, black ceilings, and built-in book cases lining the walls everywhere!
(I’m going to ask that we flash forward without stopping for directions.) One day, while enjoying a succulent green pear in Kensington gardens at the foot of the peter pan statue and reading the theater section of the paper, I will hear a delicious male voice, which happens to be singing on the other side. I turn my head slowly and praying to sweet Jesus that I do not have pear stuck in my teeth, and behold the most delightful English lad with a head of "mussy" hair reading (my heart skips a beat) peter pan and singing “Never-Never land”. Needless to say we would skip off arm in arm! Some years later, I would still be living in my little flat, now with "mussy-haired" boy happily committed and with three little "mussy-haired" images of ourselves; yes the spawn, Harrison Blythe, Liza- Jane, and Ivy Eloise. Every day and on many occasions we would rove about London in clothes made from curtains, costume jewelry, and black berets and great big combat boots, in and out of museums, libraries, and morgues (each of which places we would get kicked out of for making a ruckus), and at night we would go out role-playing on Drury lane. I would write and paint, act and sing, and make a meager living selling antiques out my parlor and designing office spaces in the city.
All of the sudden I am hit by reality, even though I was not expecting to be so abruptly plucked from my lofty position in the heights of my imagination. (Actually someone just dropped their book on my foot but I’m still startled into realizing that I am seventeen and late for religion class) Even if I did set out to live this life, would I be happy? Once I had achieved my "dreams" would I feel fulfilled? I might go on my voyage across the Atlantic only to find that my little flat had blocked up fireplaces and no storage space and that Brits used far too much butter and mayonnaise! I see that even a fun and creative life will after time become routine. Do I weep for loss of my dream? No, I’m a resourceful kid, so I make a new plan. No matter where I live, no matter who I marry, or whether my children like Dickens or Nintendo, unless I am sure of my individuality and my faith in God and being saved, my life will in essence be meaningless at its very core. So I make a pact to be a child while I can be a child and prove to Mr. Adult that I can achieve freedom, break the "teen mold", and break out of the box in which society has me trapped while living the life I am living right now. Living deliberately does not mean uprooting yourself and crossing the ocean or even the border. It does not mean having as much fun as one can possibly have or even achieving complete solitude. Living deliberately is making a conscious decision to be useful, to be fulfilled, and to make a difference even if you're the only one to appreciate it. Doing what "we want" is somewhat selfish. Doing what we were created for is somewhat wise. We can stare into the sparkling Caribbean sipping tropical drinks all day if we wanted, we could party every night and not worry about bills or obligations. We could live in a hut and kill our food with spears and be called admirable for doing so. It doesn't matter, for ultimately we will find fault with that sparkly water and its perfection will become repulsing, emptiness in an endless charade of endless parties, and loneliness in the gratification of spearing our own fish if we don't have a purpose! "How do you know this, you are only a silly teen", says the ever doubtful Mr. Adult. "I know this because of Mr. Thoreau", I reply. Mr. Thoreau went to the woods to escape society and achieve solitude to live deliberately, but he didn't stay. He did not find it fulfilling or he would have remained there and not returned. If I choose to live deliberately, I would make sure that the way I chose to live was fulfilling. For once I made the choice to live deliberately, I would not return because I will have found my purpose. You see Mr. Adult; you misjudged my idea of freedom. You did not consider that I might ultimately mean freedom to grow and become what I was created for. However, I don't hold it against you completely, for I misjudged my idea of freedom as well, I discovered it while writing this essay. Mr. Adult has nothing left to say but he manages to nod and I slowly smile, because perhaps he's never met a teen quite like me before, and you know what, this prospect excites me verily, for this means I might just be on my merry way toward living my life deliberately. This essay may be long and tedious, disconnected, and contain far too many run on sentences, but as a teen, it is my right to have an excuse for everything. My excuse is: that I made it that way...deliberately.
hehe...i like it...do you? invisible people send me yur comments b/c i never get any friggen comments! perhaps thats b/c invisible people can't send comments...well lets just put it this way:if yur not invisible post me something...its lonely online all by meself...
lady violet
ps...cuticle
our assignment was to model thoreau and his wanting to live deliberately. he tried this by going to the woods to achieve completer and utter solitude. i had to write about how exactly i would live my life deliberately, which was exceedingly fun. i have to type it out anyways so i'm just gonna type it on here.
quote: "i went to the woods because i wished to live deliberately"
"living life deliberately...or so i thought"- a challenge to your definition
by kathleen harrington
Life is monotony. We as teenagers are expected and directed by society to sit at a desk all day and fill our heads with ideas, facts, and thoughts that go undigested b/c they do not interest us, go out every weekend and predictably rebel from all we know, drag ourselves to school again every Monday and kill ourselves all week long constantly being tested and juggling appointments and activities, and I’m also coincidentally expected to fit all this in without making run on sentences? I think not! What if I don't wish to live this way? Who wrote the book on how I’m expected to act as a teen and made it law? in my opinion we need to be given some freedom! "Freedom", Mr. Adult says in a mocking tone, "Give a teen freedom and they'll run like a chaotic group of lemmings right off the side of a cliff, or rather, right off the side of their "right minds". Teens can't deal with freedom. They need schedules and activities and homework to keep them grounded and away from destroying their lives. Well Mr. Adult, that may be true for some, but as for Kathleen B. Harrington, she wants freedom! Away with monotony, and away with teen life! Mr. Thoreau, your woods is my England. If I were to live deliberately, oh what a delicious life i would lead! I'd empty my savings account and fly from this place as fast as the gingerbread man (except...I wouldn't get eaten) until I reached the sea. I’d sail away on an old leaky vessel into the inky black night. The voyage would be long (and undeveloped) and when I arrived from across the Atlantic with a nip in the breeze and optimism in the air, I would set off with no aspiration except to just "be". After feeling a bit lonely and tired of just "being", a rather rumpled newspaper would land right at my feet. What is that I’d see in the listings for rent? It’s a little flat with nooks, fireplaces, Georgian windows, and creaky wide-planked hardwood floors throughout! Why, isn't that convenient! So, I would call the number and they would be willing to rent it to me for five peanuts and a hair scrunchie, which is completely within my budget! Off I would go to inhabit my home of dreams. I would reach into my pocket for the large skeleton key and turn the creaky knob to find the loveliest little home screaming to be "re-invented". After months of combing flea markets and dumpsters my flat would be completely furnished. I will not waste time by going into details, but think Sherlock Holmes' study; burgundy walls, black ceilings, and built-in book cases lining the walls everywhere!
(I’m going to ask that we flash forward without stopping for directions.) One day, while enjoying a succulent green pear in Kensington gardens at the foot of the peter pan statue and reading the theater section of the paper, I will hear a delicious male voice, which happens to be singing on the other side. I turn my head slowly and praying to sweet Jesus that I do not have pear stuck in my teeth, and behold the most delightful English lad with a head of "mussy" hair reading (my heart skips a beat) peter pan and singing “Never-Never land”. Needless to say we would skip off arm in arm! Some years later, I would still be living in my little flat, now with "mussy-haired" boy happily committed and with three little "mussy-haired" images of ourselves; yes the spawn, Harrison Blythe, Liza- Jane, and Ivy Eloise. Every day and on many occasions we would rove about London in clothes made from curtains, costume jewelry, and black berets and great big combat boots, in and out of museums, libraries, and morgues (each of which places we would get kicked out of for making a ruckus), and at night we would go out role-playing on Drury lane. I would write and paint, act and sing, and make a meager living selling antiques out my parlor and designing office spaces in the city.
All of the sudden I am hit by reality, even though I was not expecting to be so abruptly plucked from my lofty position in the heights of my imagination. (Actually someone just dropped their book on my foot but I’m still startled into realizing that I am seventeen and late for religion class) Even if I did set out to live this life, would I be happy? Once I had achieved my "dreams" would I feel fulfilled? I might go on my voyage across the Atlantic only to find that my little flat had blocked up fireplaces and no storage space and that Brits used far too much butter and mayonnaise! I see that even a fun and creative life will after time become routine. Do I weep for loss of my dream? No, I’m a resourceful kid, so I make a new plan. No matter where I live, no matter who I marry, or whether my children like Dickens or Nintendo, unless I am sure of my individuality and my faith in God and being saved, my life will in essence be meaningless at its very core. So I make a pact to be a child while I can be a child and prove to Mr. Adult that I can achieve freedom, break the "teen mold", and break out of the box in which society has me trapped while living the life I am living right now. Living deliberately does not mean uprooting yourself and crossing the ocean or even the border. It does not mean having as much fun as one can possibly have or even achieving complete solitude. Living deliberately is making a conscious decision to be useful, to be fulfilled, and to make a difference even if you're the only one to appreciate it. Doing what "we want" is somewhat selfish. Doing what we were created for is somewhat wise. We can stare into the sparkling Caribbean sipping tropical drinks all day if we wanted, we could party every night and not worry about bills or obligations. We could live in a hut and kill our food with spears and be called admirable for doing so. It doesn't matter, for ultimately we will find fault with that sparkly water and its perfection will become repulsing, emptiness in an endless charade of endless parties, and loneliness in the gratification of spearing our own fish if we don't have a purpose! "How do you know this, you are only a silly teen", says the ever doubtful Mr. Adult. "I know this because of Mr. Thoreau", I reply. Mr. Thoreau went to the woods to escape society and achieve solitude to live deliberately, but he didn't stay. He did not find it fulfilling or he would have remained there and not returned. If I choose to live deliberately, I would make sure that the way I chose to live was fulfilling. For once I made the choice to live deliberately, I would not return because I will have found my purpose. You see Mr. Adult; you misjudged my idea of freedom. You did not consider that I might ultimately mean freedom to grow and become what I was created for. However, I don't hold it against you completely, for I misjudged my idea of freedom as well, I discovered it while writing this essay. Mr. Adult has nothing left to say but he manages to nod and I slowly smile, because perhaps he's never met a teen quite like me before, and you know what, this prospect excites me verily, for this means I might just be on my merry way toward living my life deliberately. This essay may be long and tedious, disconnected, and contain far too many run on sentences, but as a teen, it is my right to have an excuse for everything. My excuse is: that I made it that way...deliberately.
hehe...i like it...do you? invisible people send me yur comments b/c i never get any friggen comments! perhaps thats b/c invisible people can't send comments...well lets just put it this way:if yur not invisible post me something...its lonely online all by meself...
lady violet
ps...cuticle