So tonight was the first time I wrote something for school I was happy with. You see, we read this short story called Bullet in the Brain and it's about this guy who works at a bank and is kind of sick of his life and the people around him and his work. Some armed robbers come in the bank and hold everyone up. The guy doesn't feel like putting up with their games and their shit, so he just acts like a smartass to guys with guns. Now the story gets particularly interesting, especially in a classroom setting, as we're reading it out loud and our teacher reads the line that says, "You wanna suck my dick?" narrating the robber to the main character. Also very entertaining as we turn the page and somebody gets the opportunity to say "fuck" twice in school with complete freedom as it's written as part of the story. However, she asks if she has to read that, the teacher says, "No you don't have to," and she declines reading it saying she doesn't like that word and says "eff" and "effin'" instead. Boring. Come on. I'd have said it in the blanks. Anyway, the last part that we mature seniors remember is the part involving the main characters memories, or rather, the memories he does not recall as the bullet is going through his brain. The first memory he does not recall during his life flashing before his eyes is one of his first lover who referred to his "unit" as "Mr. Mole" and said things like, "Where's Mr. Mole? There he is!" Very entertaining. Too bad the class is full of goody goodies.
So anyway, our job as a class was to take the last part of the story, where all of the things he does and does not remember while dying, and write it as if the story were about us, replacing his memories with our own. I actually felt that my memories accurately summed up the important things and feelings of my life. And like the only thing the character in the story remembered, my choice in remembering memory was insignificant to my life as whole, as I recalled the time I found someone's shit under a rock on the side of the road while walking to the top of Seneca Rocks. Gotta go when you gotta go...
So yeah, I thought I'd record for you all here my first time writing something I'm happy with for school. I think I wouldn't mind reading it in front of the class. Maybe I'll even slap it on here if it is well-received! We'll have to wait and see!
I went to bed at 8 PM yesterday and woke up at 7:20 AM. Awesome night of sleep. Almost wish I could do that more often, but I really sacrificed a lot of hours of my day. I ran on my ankle again yesterday, which was a bad idea in retrospect. However, I ran one half a mile in 3:11 once and the second I ran in 3:04 on a bad ankle. I was impressed with myself. However, on the third time, my ankle started to revolt and my need for hydration started catching up with me and I had to start walking or I felt I was going to go down. I hope I cut this shit out by Saturday when I go out to Clear Spring, where Katie is going to try her hardest to come watch. I don't want to look like a puss (pronounced however you'd like it to be) in front of her and everyone else. If she comes and sees me and I see her, it will be our first time seeing each other as boyfriend and girlfriend. And to think we've been together for over a month! July 25th!
I think my pyschology teacher is my sister's grandma, Sara Evans. Like the singer, I keep being told, is how her name is spelled. I'm not sure who the singer Sara Evans is...but alright. I had to do some research today to make sure it's probably her before I asked the teacher, "...Are you Sara? Did you have a dog named Pookie? Do you have an adopted son named Frank? Do you live 2 minutes down the road from me? Do you remember that time I ran to your house when I was 7?" Aighty, I'll leave the blogging world alone and try to sleep now. I love yall. Take care of the kids.