freewrite #1

Cassànndre Sager
October 6, 2006
Engl 110 freewrite

Okay, so what should I babble about? Marianne says popsicles. I don’t want to babble about popsicles. That’s a lame subject. Almost as lame as Romanian postcards. Actually, it’s lamer. Speaking of which, I want a Romanian postcard.

John’s going to Romania. That’s a pretty crazy idea, to me. He’s leaving in January. Wow… Romania…. Wow. That’s all I have to say about it. Oh, and I wonder what the chocolate tastes like.

I should practice my flute. I haven’t practiced my flute in a couple days. Unless you count orchestra. But I wouldn’t count orchestra, because I’m talking about out of class practicing. And Marianne is playing the piano and it sounds nice.

“Oh, just about” I say when she asks me if “that’s it, then?” And it is. I don’t have much more of importance to say. So we hang up.

And now I’m sitting at the computer typing…typing… typing… Perhaps I should turn the monitor off, just so I’m not distracted by typos… but I don’t really feel like doing that. I kind of like seeing the words that flow from my brain, down to my fingers being born on the page. I like seeing the amount of black grow.

I walked home from Kentwood today, just like every day. Except for the days when I don’t. I felt like I was living in Washington. (Which is ironic, considering that I am living in Washington. Haha.) You see, it was raining a little bit, and there was a man outside mowing his lawn! How crazy is that?! Mowing your lawn in the rain?! Oh well, whatever…

I want some music. Wait just a moment while I turn it on. And respond to what John just said on IM. He tells me that I am a sissy because I’ve never mowed the lawn before.

Soo… Homecoming is a week from tomorrow. And that’s pretty exciting to me. I almost went to Tolo last February, but I didn’t. But that’s a different story. Anyhow, I’m going with John to Homecoming. Not John, Romanian John, but a different John. And I haven’t seen him in two years. He’s probably changed a lot. His mom, Kathy, tells me that he has big arms. From football. And Mary Ann (Kathy and my mom’s friend) says that he’s pretty cute. Well, good for him, I suppose. It was a funny conversation, though, listening to Kathy and Mary Ann tell me how good-looking my date is. That was pretty dang funny, in my opinion. Of course, I’ve probably changed a lot, too.

Oh look- a useful train of thought! Anyhow, I’ve probably changed a lot, too. What is different about me now? I guess that question wouldn’t lead to a very clear answer. I’m obsessive-compulsive. My hair is short- but wait, it was short, then, too. I know more things. I’m older. I probably look different just because I am older. But no, that won’t give the proper information about me. That won’t tell a person how I’ve changed over the past two years. And that there is the real question. You want to know what’s different about me, now? Well, my hair being short isn’t very different from two years ago… unless you knew me 5 months ago, when it went half-way down my back. It’s not just that I’m obsessive-compulsive now, it’s that I became obsessive-compulsive, or developed OCD, and have been working at it. And now I’m better than I was a year ago. But you wouldn’t know that from two years ago. I’m better at sign language. I’m better at the flute. I’ve been on dates. I haven't been upset about Russell in a long time. I had a dream that he called me the other night. I don’t even remember anything else about it. Just being on the phone with him. Strange.
Oh, and look now. I’m done with my one-page freewrite.