Meredith you're fine stop freaking out. Breath. Okay. Pencils, check. Calculator, check. Water bottle, check. Granola bar, check. Breath. Okay. I know how to do this, I've done this before and the proctor seems nice enough, and Serge is next to me, that's nice I like that Serge is next to me I don't feel like I'm alone. It smells like detergent; oh that's because I got this shirt out of the laundry right before I left. Someone has a cold, that's disgusting wow they need to get a tissue. Ok focus Meredith, what are you doing? Breath. Here comes the test. Yup ok this is fine I can do this. Does the proctor really need to go through all of these directions I am sweating right now I need to get this over with before I pass out. Ok time to open the test. Writing multiple choice, perfect, I've got this. Ok it's been fifteen minutes I'm alright just keep on going. One more question. Done. Phew. That wasn't so bad, deep breath. Three hours later. I'm done. Wow that person still needs a tissue..
you definitely get a sense of urgency and panic across. I really like how you used short sentences with a few long ones in between. When your reading it it feels choppy but thats kind of how it feels to be that panicy. I also like how you bring back the person who needs a tissue at the end again. It made it seem more like a complete thought. It also is very clear these are the SATs and everyone feels panicy at the SATs so it is something you can connect with. Nice job!
I'm back from rehearsal (which went well), and now I've got a ton of homework to do. Actually, it isn't that much, just a blog post and some physics and some math, but I want to write the five paragraph history essay tonight because I don't want to do it over the weekend since we're going to Quebec. I should also work on my lab report (also due Monday) for the same reason. And then there's my term paper. I think that as of today, my library books are overdue, but I still need to finish my outline. The rough draft is due the Tuesday after the weekend of the play, so I really should be working on it now. Ideally I hope to get my homework done in a timely enough manner that I can start the new book I just got at BAM yesterday (I was already at the mall buying a new dress for Quebec, and who can go to the mall without going to BAM?). I don't think I'll manage that, however, because I am incapable of doing much of anything past 9:30, and I still need to eat supper. I would probably eat a ton if I wasn't in such a rush, but I bet I'll leave the table hungry, so stressed am I about all this work. Somehow it'll work out, but with a wave of homework crashing down upon me, I can't yet see through to the other side.
Why does this class have to be so long? The rest of my day passes quickly enough, but this last class is agony. It drags on and on, slowly, for what feels like three hours instead of two. I check the clock again. 1:00. How has it been only five minutes? It felt like twenty. This is taking forever. I wonder what will happen in the next chapter of my book....No, wait. Focus. Crap, I missed what she said there. I hope it wasn't important. Write down the drawing, anyway. Maybe it will help. This doesn't come to me easily; I should be paying much better attention. But I don't like this class much. I'm not motivated. Oh, no, I missed what she said again. I bet it was important.
Something was in there, I knew it. Something large, with wings, had just landed in that patch of tall grass. I flattened myself to the ground, scanning every blade. Seeing nothing, I inched forward. Aha! The American bird grasshopper, Schistocerca americana, a beautiful tan and cream-colored new species for me! I lunged, but he knew I was coming. Leaping into the air, his wings spread and he was across the pond and into the tops of the trees in seconds. Stunned, I watched him go, but as I did so, my mind was already moving on. If his species existed here, there should certainly be more. On my last day of vacation, I found myself in the same place, searching one last time for the elusive bugger. I had seen neither hide nor hair of him, and I was about ready to call it quits. As I passed another patch of grass, he suddenly shot up in front of me. I lept, swung my net, missed, and it was over. Skimming the field, he again spiraled up into the trees. Berating myself for bungling my last chance, I realized the simple truth: He had won.
It it kind of interesting the differences in lifestyles of each family or person. Each one has specific things they like to eat and specific manners in which they conduct their house. In my house we eat salad with lettuce greens, but some of our close family friends eat iceberg lettuce. We get along quite well, and when I was younger and my parents went away I stayed with them. We are similar but at the same time so different. At another friends house when the meal is done and cleared you put the napkins on the chairs. Each person or family has little quirks like that. I am comfortable with the quirks at my house but I wonder if I will change a lot of them when I move out. I will probably be comfortable coming back to the querks of my parents’ house, but will they automatically know many of mine? Will they be comfortable in my house? It would be funny if they weren't.
A few weeks ago my parents bought me an iPhone 5 for my birthday. I had not gotten a new phone since the winter of freshman year so my contract was up which meant I could get a free upgrade. I had been looking forward to a new a phone a lot, especially since I downloaded iOS7 and my old phone had gotten infinitely slower with the too advanced technology. It was not until I was in the AT&T store that I remembered how my new phone was made. I stood between the iPhone 5s and iPhone 5c listening to the salesman give a pitch for each and found myself only thinking about the horrific stories I had heard about sweatshops in China. I remembered how they had to put up a net around the building because too many workers were killing themselves. I thought back to a story I’d heard about an entire sweatshop collapsing and killing many of the workers inside. They were not allowed to go home. They were not allowed to do anything but work. Until they died. I like to think of myself as a good person that wouldn’t knowingly hurt someone else. I like to think that I stand for peace and justice. It’s hard to believe this now, as I look at my new iPhone 5c.
The late night movie runs began like this; whispered voices in the living room, quick and rushed, trying to figure out which closest showing we could make. Then, after finally reaching a consensus, we would rush out the door, shutting it as softly as we could, so as to not wake up our parents, before we took off across the lawn and piled into the car. I hadn’t always been apart of this summer excursion. When I was younger, I would sit by as I watched my brothers getting ready, and I would ask the simple question, “Where are you going?” but, just always received, “Wherever the wind takes us.” Then they would run out the door and I would run to the window to watch them leave, my heart growing slowly heavier because I was bored, and young, yet had nothing to do. But, when it seemed like I was “old enough” my brothers let me join in and I felt larger and older and stronger heading out into the dark night without worrying about coming home too late. After after every movie, we would act as if the world in the movie still existed and play around, quoting lines or situations as we made our way back home. And I just remember feeling like I was walking on something that made me grow, as if I were as tall as my brothers.
“Gretchen,” her old, slightly crackling voice calls. Instinctively, I look around for Gretchen, but she is on the other side of the room talking to her cousin (my mom). Then I remember that she thinks I am Gretchen. At first I ignore her with a deep desire for her to remember my name, but she never does. Gretchen. Gretchen. I want to say my name but I am too scared of how she might react. Giving up, I finally respond. She asks me the same question as she did only a few minutes earlier. I answer the same way, and she is just as surprised that I am a senior as she was the first time I answered. Her long-term memory is as if 80 years ago was just yesterday, but her dementia has caused her to lose all short-term memory. She remembers everyone else’s name except for mine. She even knows who Gretchen is and who Emily is, but she can no longer associate my name with my face. “Gretchen, what year are you in school now?”
Meredith you're fine stop freaking out. Breath. Okay. Pencils, check. Calculator, check. Water bottle, check. Granola bar, check. Breath. Okay. I know how to do this, I've done this before and the proctor seems nice enough, and Serge is next to me, that's nice I like that Serge is next to me I don't feel like I'm alone. It smells like detergent; oh that's because I got this shirt out of the laundry right before I left. Someone has a cold, that's disgusting wow they need to get a tissue. Ok focus Meredith, what are you doing? Breath. Here comes the test. Yup ok this is fine I can do this. Does the proctor really need to go through all of these directions I am sweating right now I need to get this over with before I pass out. Ok time to open the test. Writing multiple choice, perfect, I've got this. Ok it's been fifteen minutes I'm alright just keep on going. One more question. Done. Phew. That wasn't so bad, deep breath. Three hours later. I'm done. Wow that person still needs a tissue..
ReplyDeleteyou definitely get a sense of urgency and panic across. I really like how you used short sentences with a few long ones in between. When your reading it it feels choppy but thats kind of how it feels to be that panicy. I also like how you bring back the person who needs a tissue at the end again. It made it seem more like a complete thought. It also is very clear these are the SATs and everyone feels panicy at the SATs so it is something you can connect with. Nice job!
DeleteI'm back from rehearsal (which went well), and now I've got a ton of homework to do. Actually, it isn't that much, just a blog post and some physics and some math, but I want to write the five paragraph history essay tonight because I don't want to do it over the weekend since we're going to Quebec. I should also work on my lab report (also due Monday) for the same reason. And then there's my term paper. I think that as of today, my library books are overdue, but I still need to finish my outline. The rough draft is due the Tuesday after the weekend of the play, so I really should be working on it now. Ideally I hope to get my homework done in a timely enough manner that I can start the new book I just got at BAM yesterday (I was already at the mall buying a new dress for Quebec, and who can go to the mall without going to BAM?). I don't think I'll manage that, however, because I am incapable of doing much of anything past 9:30, and I still need to eat supper. I would probably eat a ton if I wasn't in such a rush, but I bet I'll leave the table hungry, so stressed am I about all this work. Somehow it'll work out, but with a wave of homework crashing down upon me, I can't yet see through to the other side.
ReplyDeleteWhy does this class have to be so long? The rest of my day passes quickly enough, but this last class is agony. It drags on and on, slowly, for what feels like three hours instead of two. I check the clock again. 1:00. How has it been only five minutes? It felt like twenty. This is taking forever. I wonder what will happen in the next chapter of my book....No, wait. Focus. Crap, I missed what she said there. I hope it wasn't important. Write down the drawing, anyway. Maybe it will help. This doesn't come to me easily; I should be paying much better attention. But I don't like this class much. I'm not motivated. Oh, no, I missed what she said again. I bet it was important.
ReplyDeleteSomething was in there, I knew it. Something large, with wings, had just landed in that patch of tall grass. I flattened myself to the ground, scanning every blade. Seeing nothing, I inched forward. Aha! The American bird grasshopper, Schistocerca americana, a beautiful tan and cream-colored new species for me! I lunged, but he knew I was coming. Leaping into the air, his wings spread and he was across the pond and into the tops of the trees in seconds. Stunned, I watched him go, but as I did so, my mind was already moving on. If his species existed here, there should certainly be more.
ReplyDeleteOn my last day of vacation, I found myself in the same place, searching one last time for the elusive bugger. I had seen neither hide nor hair of him, and I was about ready to call it quits. As I passed another patch of grass, he suddenly shot up in front of me. I lept, swung my net, missed, and it was over. Skimming the field, he again spiraled up into the trees. Berating myself for bungling my last chance, I realized the simple truth: He had won.
It it kind of interesting the differences in lifestyles of each family or person. Each one has specific things they like to eat and specific manners in which they conduct their house. In my house we eat salad with lettuce greens, but some of our close family friends eat iceberg lettuce. We get along quite well, and when I was younger and my parents went away I stayed with them. We are similar but at the same time so different. At another friends house when the meal is done and cleared you put the napkins on the chairs. Each person or family has little quirks like that. I am comfortable with the quirks at my house but I wonder if I will change a lot of them when I move out. I will probably be comfortable coming back to the querks of my parents’ house, but will they automatically know many of mine? Will they be comfortable in my house? It would be funny if they weren't.
ReplyDeleteA few weeks ago my parents bought me an iPhone 5 for my birthday. I had not gotten a new phone since the winter of freshman year so my contract was up which meant I could get a free upgrade. I had been looking forward to a new a phone a lot, especially since I downloaded iOS7 and my old phone had gotten infinitely slower with the too advanced technology. It was not until I was in the AT&T store that I remembered how my new phone was made. I stood between the iPhone 5s and iPhone 5c listening to the salesman give a pitch for each and found myself only thinking about the horrific stories I had heard about sweatshops in China. I remembered how they had to put up a net around the building because too many workers were killing themselves. I thought back to a story I’d heard about an entire sweatshop collapsing and killing many of the workers inside. They were not allowed to go home. They were not allowed to do anything but work. Until they died. I like to think of myself as a good person that wouldn’t knowingly hurt someone else. I like to think that I stand for peace and justice. It’s hard to believe this now, as I look at my new iPhone 5c.
ReplyDeleteThe late night movie runs began like this; whispered voices in the living room, quick and rushed, trying to figure out which closest showing we could make. Then, after finally reaching a consensus, we would rush out the door, shutting it as softly as we could, so as to not wake up our parents, before we took off across the lawn and piled into the car. I hadn’t always been apart of this summer excursion. When I was younger, I would sit by as I watched my brothers getting ready, and I would ask the simple question, “Where are you going?” but, just always received, “Wherever the wind takes us.” Then they would run out the door and I would run to the window to watch them leave, my heart growing slowly heavier because I was bored, and young, yet had nothing to do. But, when it seemed like I was “old enough” my brothers let me join in and I felt larger and older and stronger heading out into the dark night without worrying about coming home too late. After after every movie, we would act as if the world in the movie still existed and play around, quoting lines or situations as we made our way back home. And I just remember feeling like I was walking on something that made me grow, as if I were as tall as my brothers.
ReplyDelete“Gretchen,” her old, slightly crackling voice calls. Instinctively, I look around for Gretchen, but she is on the other side of the room talking to her cousin (my mom). Then I remember that she thinks I am Gretchen. At first I ignore her with a deep desire for her to remember my name, but she never does. Gretchen. Gretchen. I want to say my name but I am too scared of how she might react. Giving up, I finally respond. She asks me the same question as she did only a few minutes earlier. I answer the same way, and she is just as surprised that I am a senior as she was the first time I answered. Her long-term memory is as if 80 years ago was just yesterday, but her dementia has caused her to lose all short-term memory. She remembers everyone else’s name except for mine. She even knows who Gretchen is and who Emily is, but she can no longer associate my name with my face.
ReplyDelete“Gretchen, what year are you in school now?”