Block Writing Narrative

October 12, 2007
I wake up twenty minutes late, as usual. I grab a hair band, tying my hair in a knot on top of head, and then I throw a headband on to keep the small hairs out my eyes. I throw the usual “blah” skirt and blouse on, quickly brush my teeth, grab a “Chewy Bar”, and run out the door. My mom yells to me to get my laundry out. I call “No Time!”

Once at school, I go straight to homeroom. I open our newest novel of torture, The Scarlet Letter. This is worse than Siddhartha I think. A friend comes in and asks if I’d like to do something that evening. I reply, “Sorry, I don’t have time.”

I move from class to class, always working on something. Trying to finish my impossible AP Chemistry homework, design a club t-shirt, or memorize my lines, my brain is constantly running. I look at the latest extra credit assignment for history and think to myself, “I wish I had time.”

Today is one unusual day that I actually get to go home after school. I pull into the driveway at 3:30. I make myself a sandwich and I sit down to try and relax. I enjoy twenty minutes of somewhat relaxation and then promptly at four o’ clock, I get up and get ready for soccer practice. My body is tired and aches for a nap, but I tell it “we don’t have time.”

I put the same smelly shin guards and cleats on and I get back in my car. I turn on some music, but I lack the energy to sing along like I used to. I decide to change the CD. I put in my friend’s CD that he composed and made himself. A smile cracks my face as I think about the music. I then remember that I need to pick up my pictures. “No time, I’m already late as it is.”

Practice drags on; I don’t want to run anymore, I want to play. My body reminds me again that it wants a nap. I remind it again that there’s no time.

I drive to drama. I see the smiling faces of my friends and I’m happy to see them. I’m happy to be here, where I can relax and enjoy myself for a bit. I laugh and joke with my friends. I watch them sing and perform. What a beautiful place this is. I try to make my time there last as long as possible, but at 9:55 I have to go home. I can hear my father saying “You don’t have time to waste up there goofing off with your friends.”

I go home. I shower. I eat. I grab my forty pound backpack and collapse on the couch. I begin the three hours of homework I was assigned for this evening. I start with my least favorite classes to get them out of the way. Next, I work on my religion project. I consider the fact that this project should have only taken about thirty minutes. I have now spent an hour and a half total on it. I hate being such a perfectionist. I finish that and I move back to the couch to study for my government test. In five minutes, I’m out cold. As I softly wheeze on the couch, with my government book resting on my legs, my body relaxes and says “Finally, its time.”

Even while sleeping, my head is frazzled. Thoughts of college applications, soccer tryouts, homework, clubs, service, scripts, and everything else swarm through my brain. I’m sick of having my last couple of years of childhood overrun with things I don’t want to do. One fleeting dream takes me away this night, a single dream that doesn’t have anything to do with...

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isabt123 said...
Feb. 18, 2011 at 2:05 pm
this is very nice and well written,,i thouroghly enjoyed the ammenitties this narrative poem offered me,,this is defiately a job well done
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