Random Post: Part Two(For Class)

But I cannot lay the blame on only my teacher. ‘Teachers’ is a better description, as my writing habits were shaped by more then one person. I also blame my coaches as well. Always telling me to run, then watch the ball, then stop, then run again. Such habits leaped over into the other parts of my life. One such example is when I was in the house. I ran, I stopped to make sure the screen door was open, then ran right into the glass door. I’ve hated glass cleaners ever since. This is also apparent in my writing habits. I can write for long spaces of time, but as soon as I stop, I can’t write anymore. It’s like hitting that glass door. Knowing there is a beautiful word outside, yet unable to visit it because I have to sit down and wait for the world inside to stop spinning. Even when I am able to get past the glass door, something always distracts me, and again, I stop. Suddenly I am back within the home, unable to touch the beauty of my mind. Like that stupid singing above me right now. Sounds almost like a song I am familiar with, except the words are garbled. That probably has something to do with the walls between us. Suddenly I remember that I was supposed to do a post on racism. Thoughts are a big problem too, apparently. I’m writing, and suddenly I realize I am hungry. I get up, and then the computer falls into the water. After the shaking pain subsided, and my muscles unclenched, I realized that if I had not gotten hungry, I would never have been shocked. I would have spent my day gladly typing away, if not for that one, sinisterly disguised thought. It is like I am at war with my brain. Great warplanes whizzing about, chattering away as their machine guns blast at each other. See how the sound of the keyboard affects me even now? Those thoughts, sinister things, they conspire against me. Indeed, it is a conspiracy. My mind, body, and everything else in the world is determined to keep me from writing. If I have learned one thing in my days, it is that conspiracies exist. They are built to keep me in the chains of the mediocre, to never create anything that would wow the world. Yes, it all makes sense now, to be cliché. The world is out to get me, to stop me from writing interesting things. I will not stand for this tyranny, however. I have many times fought injustice. For example, when the bully started harassing me, I kicked him in the nuts. Everyone cheered, and I was the hero of the playground. At least for the ten minutes it took for the bully to get back up. Then everything hurt a lot, but for those few minutes, I was a hero to everyone. Perhaps it is time to be a hero again. I will stand up for-