Exploration :: Personal Narrative Writing

ExplorationI employ to have such a pleasant outlook on bearing it was cotton candy and soda pop all the way. No, wait, thats a lie. I never liked life much at all. Dont get me revile I like the touch of a strong hand and the step of fresh rain, only when I have trouble with the fact that no one k instantlys why or to what end. Ive often hated other people. Sartre utter hell is other people and I truly agree, but it is a self induced hell. Theres this girl named Sarah in one of my classes she sits in the buttocks of class knitting. Is my class so mundane that you have to entertain yourself by knitting? the professor questioned her with a knitted brow. Well, actually its crocheting, but I contemplate that doesnt change your outlook, she grunted in reply. I dont think its very responsible student behavior, an audible sigh escaped his pursed lips. I could just smell the tension mounting in the room. It gave me this hot relishing all everyplace my body, an excitement. I felt s o pleased by her punishment. I mean that is not very Christian behavior, but I also suppose I am not very Christian. Sometimes I feel I should be more accepting of other people, mind you not very often, but on rare occasions empathy everyplacecomes me. You must already feel I am a rather unlikable person, but I dont believe that to be true. As I sit in my four cornered room writing to you, my reader, I suppose I might like you, given the proper circumstances. You see, I am a enunciate. I didnt want the job. I never applied and I dont approve it, but this is what I am. I know it seems impossible to believe that a twenty-one-year-old woman could be a judge, but it is true. I preside over a huge court and everyone and everything I meet is subject to my judgements. I oversee all of it, from dew drizzled lush landscapes to decrepit bag ladies. Right now I judge my fingers and toes and the poor soul next to me. I judge proven scientific experiments and baseless philosophical arguments . I sit and inspect at this nauseating orange tabletop in this disturbingly small cubicle. I shiver at the thought of how many fingers have typed on these kindred keys and the meaningless jargon or incredible realizations they have produced.