When I was 11 years old I was homeschooled and my mother made me write in a journal. Sometimes I enjoyed this, but usually I was lazy and had to have my mother force me to get anything down. I discovered my journal quite some time ago and was greatly amused by a passage I wrote that pretty well defined my personality with regards to anything work related. So here it is, a work of 11 year old prose from 1997:
August, 23, 1997
Boy is my mom fussy. She makes me do work in the Summer. I can't stand it. I've had a lot of stuff happening. I going to be in a play, I'm going to be in a Finally (I meant "finale")--life is just tuff on me. It's hard to get through I have to go outside and play so bye. Oh I have to keep on going moms being bossy, I hate doing this reading is great but this.
I'd rather go play. Why me I have to do so much boring stuff wile every bodys playing. Why cant I write when I have the time insted of makeing me write when I dont want to. writing also hurts your wrist. Its just a big waste of time. Someday I may be the smartest person in the world and the'll (in my mind "the'll" were news reporters) ask if reading is better or is writing. and I'll say reading because writing hurts your hand and Its really really boring. and the person (news reporter again) will ask the second smartest person in the world and she will say DIDO (I meant "ditto").
Yeah, I was kind of a brat sometimes. Still waiting for that "Smartest Person in the World" title so I can answer that all-important question.
No comments:
Post a Comment