PRED
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Member No.: 9
Joined: 17-January 08
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Chapter 1: Narrative Essay
I got to class slightly earlier than usual, so there were only about five people there already. I glanced around the room after entering through the door, and then walked over to my usual seat at the beginning of the far row. I sat down, and then read hat was written on the board. My heart sank. I hoped and prayed that they were just notes for the last class and didn’t involve me in any way. After a few minutes of fretting, I saw the door open again. Professor Morton, the instructor for the class, walked in, which meant it was time for class to start. She sat down in her chair and called role, to which I responded appropriately, like usual, but I still had that dreadful thought in the back of my head. Once role call was completed, she told us what we would be doing today. She said she had changer her original plan for what we would be doing, and went over the do’s and not to do’s of our new assignment. My fears were confirmed; today the class would be writing narrative essays.
I thought to myself, “Essay, fantastic. I’ll never get this done.” I knew that I wouldn’t be able to concentrate on the thing, and even if I could, I wouldn’t be able to think of a topic. While Professor Morton was telling us what we would be doing for our essay, I started to brainstorm some ideas, admittedly blocking out a lot of what she was saying, which turned out to be a mistake. I did, however, think up a great idea for a fictional story, and I actually had some confidence in it. Unfortunately, at the end of her oration, the instructor told us that our narrative had to be of our own personal experience, meaning the only topic I’ve ever been satisfied with was now worthless.
The instructor finished delivering instructions, and my hopes of possibly starting the on the essay before class was let out were crushed. “Stop being so negative,” I told myself, “This is why you never get these things done.” I honestly wanted to believe that if I stay positive, I might actually come up with a new idea. Unfortunately, this was not the case, as even if I felt positive about writing, my mind would never allow me to use that feeling.
After emerging victorious from a back and forth in my head about my competences when it comes to writing, I glanced over at the clock. 11:24 P.M. “Amazing,” I thought, “I only wasted ten minutes doing nothing.” I needed to focus, I knew that, but that 10 minute inner dialogue made me even more uncertain in my ability. If I couldn’t stay focused the moment after the assignment was given, how could I expect to get anything done? I told myself to just keep concentrating and eventually the words would just start flowing, or at least I told myself that’s what everyone else says. The all make it seem so easy, as if writing was just supposed to come naturally and you didn’t even have to try. “Well if that’s the case, maybe I’m just an idiot,” I thought at first, but then retorted, “No, that can’t be. I’m great at all other things academic. I just suck at writing is all.”A few more minutes of self-contradiction in my head, and I was finally done talking to myself, which for most people would be a good thing. I was different. For me all it meant that the time for sensible thought had ended, and distraction was ready to take control.
Once more I looked at the clock. This time it was 11:30 P.M. I don’t even know how I wasted so much time talking to myself about nothing. I pondered that for a moment, until I noticed that thing that was under the clock. It was beautiful. Presumably it was a hub for Ethernet cables, cords that carry information from system to system, but this was a big hub. There were dozens of cables of every color, but nowhere near that many computers in the room. All the cables went up from the hub into the ceiling, vanishing from sight. I yearned for the knowledge of where they went and what they were used for. I thought, “Maybe they run through the walls into other rooms.” Consequently, upon thinking about the walls, my eyes felt obligated to scan them. There were a few windows, and they all had blinds. Most of the blinds were open, but one of the windows had closed blinds, and it annoyed me. I needed to know why those that one set of blinds refused to be uniform. I hated those blinds. What right did they have to be different and throw off the uniformity of the room? To me, those blinds were a sentient entity bent on destroying my psyche in a complex but simple way, but fortunately, my skull was stronger than their plastic, and I escaped their mind game after only a minute or two.
I can’t say that I did it alone, however. What saved me from inevitable insanity was what was next to the window. It was nothing but a cord concealer, the things they put on walls to hide the cables that run all over the room and powered everything. It wasn’t the fact that it was there that distracted me from those accursed blinds, but that it was painted in the exact same fashion as the rest of the wall. I was white with esoterically placed points that stuck out from the paint. It was as if the painter was too lazy to paint the wall and concealer separately, and it angered me. I thought up a few baseless insults toward the painter, but then I remembered my original mission; to write an essay. I realized I had been ignoring it for a while, and that time had most certainly not stood still while I was distracted. I didn’t want to look back at the clock, but I knew I it was the punishment I had earned for my incompetence. 11:38 P.M.; damn it.
About two more minutes of self-inflicted insults followed my checking of the time. I was ashamed that I was led astray by such insignificant distractions. However, I firmly believe that if I hadn’t encountered another distraction, my self ego-deflating would have continued until the end of class. Almost directly above me was a television. It brought me hope that we would be watching movies in class. The pleasant thoughts didn’t last long, however, because my hope turned to fear when I saw that the screen was held up by a long and weak looking metal bar, and it extended out over me. I was afraid that it would give way and the screen would fall on me. I believed that it would, and I knew that when it did, it wouldn’t be pretty. I knew that… I knew that it was just my mind distracting me from the essay.
I had to concentrate. I had to think up a topic to write about. I had to stare at the screen and think of nothing but the essay until an idea came to mind. I had to be determined. Unfortunately, none of that was in my ability, and that part of me that wanted to fail took a firm hold of that idea. I closed my eyes. I yelled at myself in my head, but nothing that I did seemed to suppress my thoughts of incompetence. I had been defeated by myself, and I was never going to think of a topic to… write… on? “Maybe I know exactly what to write about,” I thought with renewed esteem. The insulting voices had left, and my mission was back on track. I knew what my topic would be, and I began to type; “I got to class slightly earlier than usual.” Yes! This narrative will be great! I honestly believe that I can do it.
Now all I have to do is actually write it…
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English 101
