Posted by: Steph | | June 20, 2010

Free Writing 1

I might have to scream if I continue with this uni work. Instead, have some “free writing”. Topics were ones suggested in my writing textbook, which I shall reference later when I’m less aware I need to go study. These are unedited, because freewriting and writing journals aren’t meant to be edited. It’s just practice, and mostly just random strings of crap that spring to mind 😀

Topic: “The truth is…”

The truth is that, frankly, I get bored sometimes. I’m not an evil person, I don’t go out and provoke people for no good reason. The trouble is that from where I’m standing, being bored is a plenty good reason to take action – even if that action is not necessarily pleasant to those I might involve. So, okay, I admit maybe I shouldn’t have made Johnny my partner in crime. Poor old Johnny never was quick on the uptake. Skinny as a rail, flexible as a gymnast, but with that tell-tale vacant grin that told you he was a few fries short of a happy meal. The poor guy would do just about anything to get a smile out of a pretty girl, and I was convinced (at the time, though I will grant that on reflection I realised my logic may not have been as flawless as I thought it was) that it would make Georgie Sparks have a laugh. Okay, yes, she’d be laughing AT someone, but Georgie didn’t strike me as the type who would mind the distinction, and I don’t think Johnny would have known the difference. Kenny… well yeah I admit Kenny was an unfortunate part of the whole thing. But hey it’s collateral damage right? All for the greater cause etc, etc?
And as I’ve said, curing my boredom was DEFINITELY a greater cause.

Topic: “I need proof…”

I need proof that people see me certain ways. I try my best not to be one of those who grasps desperately for the approval of others, fingers clasping tightly to vacant shreds of compliments not really intended as such… but I am. I sit there and I smile and I simper and I nod and I wait for someone to tell me I’m doing a good job. Why is it that humanity struggles to just TELL each other when we’re doing the right thing? I don’t get riled up about many injustices in the world, but I have to admit that that has always got to me. Like this niggling sensation. A mosquito bite that itches right down to the bone. I know it’s wrong. It’s got to be, right? It cannot be right to do nothing but punish the bad. Psychology itself tells us that’s not effective, so why do we persist? Oh don’t get me wrong. I guess some places try. Like those paltry work incentives that big businesses hand out on silver platters, drawn up by business consultants who tell them to improve their work “culture” with a cheap plaque to say “well done!” In that particular scenario, I think I’d rather have the money it took to make the stupid thing.

Topic: “A long time ago…”

A long time ago, I had faith that you were coming home. Maybe ‘home’ is the wrong choice of words. I guess you never really thought of here as ‘home’, but it was home to me, so I suppose I just figured it felt that way to everyone. Even after you made it clear it wasn’t, part of me still expected you to walk through that door with your usual lopsided grin, holding a book. I don’t know why I’d expect it to be a book. Maybe just because of the way you talk, like you expect every word you say to be some great pearl of wisdom delivered only after weeks and months of deliberation. Time and thought like that which went into the imaginary book in your hands.
Frankly, I know now that it’s your loss. So you can keep your imaginary books, but more than that, you can keep your “pearls” of wisdom. Because frankly, I think you’re mostly just full of shit.

Topic: “I turned the corner, and there, coming towards me was…”

I turned the corner, and there, coming towards me was Carrie. Sweet, delicious Carrie, with her candy hair and liquorice earrings. She was chewing bubblegum absently, her peppermint eyes staring off into a distant sky. I wanted to get her attention but I stalled, watching instead as she blew a bubble and let it pop with a loud resounding snap. She picked it carefully from her eyelashes as I inhaled the strawberry waft the pop had blown my way. Now would, theoretically, be the time to interrupt her.
(I think I must have been hungry. I was imagining a candy world. Awesome.)

I don’t pretend to understand my psyche either.


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