I’m really starting not to like Fahrenheit 451. It’s making me realize things. Some lines I read are exactly what I’ve been thinking about people. In a way, it made me discover that my life has been slightly empty.
In fourth and fifth grade, I was always writing. I found it interesting, exciting, and fun to do. One of my stories I had written, Swift the Lone Wolf, made it up to 83 pages, typed in 12pt font. I was overflowing with pride. By the end of the year, writing started to get boring for me and in the middle of that summer, I stopped writing. Just stopped. I even stopped reading.
That’s about the time I started getting depressed. I had nothing to keep my mind occupied; no friends, family, music, or writing that I could explain myself with. Instead, I had a disfunctional mom, and a brother and dad who yelled at me for making simple mistakes and embarrassed me in public
This summer, I tried reading again and tore through, “Don’t Grow Old, Grow Up!” by Dorothy Carnegie. (All I had to choose from was a pile of old books) And after that, I wanted to read what seems the oldest book in the universe, “How to Stop Worrying and Start Living”, by her husband. I managed to get halfway through it, when school started. I was a happy, changed person. I noticed that after I stopped reading it, my worries came back. I was dragged from my old shell and shoved straight into a new one.
I have not started to write again, but instead I will use my blog as an outlet and incorporate my writing into my posts. What are you left with? A long, “deep” post that everyone is too lazy or too tired to read.
That is why I feel like no one cares. Here I am pouring my heart out to you, to the world! And all you can say is, “That’s deep.”? I suppose I shouldn’t expect anything, expect other people to solve my problems for me. I need to stand up and face them on my own. I need to make myself motivated by motivating other people. I already know how to quit worrying about something and it has worked quite well. I know a few of my friends need to learn that skill, though.
If I bore you, tell me. I apologize. There is no reason not to be honest with me. I am so honest with my friends that it kills me, almost literally.
And dear Mr. Skonecki, I ‘m sitting on my bed at 10:30 at night, dead tired. Because my dad doesn’t have enough money to get internet, I’m prewriting this in a Word document. This post is three sentences away from being a full page. Yet, somehow I have trouble writing four paragraphs about food. I can write, I am smart and I can outshine most students. But I choose not to. Why? Because then everyone expects me to be that way all the time. That may sound like a good thing, but what happens with society is your peers see you as a “know-it-all that is all responsibility and no fun.” I know far too many of those. I don’t want to become one.
Congratulations, you are seeing the “wisdom” of a thirteen-year-old girl, WHO IS BLONDE. What more to motivate you than stupidity in a nutshell?