So, we have some freewriting time at the beginning of LA class everyday. And then, if you read aloud some of what you wrote, you get participation points. Well, since I hardly ever speak up during class, I decided that this would be a good opportunity to make sure I don't participation-points-fail
and show off my awesome writing skillz
. Since we're reading As I Lay Dying
(Faulkner, I have fallen in love with you), I decided that I would write each day as a part of one of my characters' monologues. Today, I wrote an entry for Ethan, who was being exceptionally perceptive
This is what I wrote:
Loneliness is a useless term. No single word can describe the constant anguish that pervades one until the only course left is to either go out and make new friends or die. It is a struggle just as important as the struggle for food, because even if you have plenty of food, loneliness will waste you away until you are less than bone.
The funny thing is, apparently, the teacher called my parents because she thought that I was emotionally unstable/suicidal/something of the like. BWAHAHAHAHA! Ah, I have nothing against her, since teachers are obligated to look out for the health of their students. But really, now? Dad says he tried to convince her that it's just a writing style, and frankly, it is. I get this feeling of irony that in a Language Arts class, where we are examining classics such as As I Lay Dying, my sanity is called into question because of an exploratory piece of writing. Ethan's thoughts were not on suicide or teenage ennui, nor were mine. When I wrote this, I was thinking about the elderly. How those poor old men and women sit in the nursing homes we thrust them into, rotting away for years upon years. Yet, it is not just the elderly who must endure this, as anyone who is socially inept and has next to no friends outside of school can tell you. I knew that "die" would likely be misconstrued as suicide, but I felt that the point would not get across if I tried to substitute another word/phrase. However, the taking of one's own life is not what I intended it to mean. Back to the image of the elderly, I ask you: have you ever had to sit by as you watched a grandparent slowly waste away with the monotony of friendlessness? Is the message not clear now, that the death I speak of is not self-inflicted, but merely what would naturally come about if they do not "go out and make new friends?"
I have to say, I have heard a lot more disturbing subjects written about at Scribes by people my age, such as Nazis, drugs, and prostitutes. Can I not be granted this one reprieve from true despair?
P.S. I wrote, "the constant anguish that pervades one," not "the constant anguish that pervades me." Would you agree that there is a major difference between the two?
P.P.S. LOL, I like how I'm examining my own writing like how we examine professional writing.
P.P.P.S. Perhaps what I must do is the one thing one must never do when reading a piece of writing aloud: disclaim.