In English class we've started expanding on our genres of writing, its up to us to decide what we want to write about. Personally, I fucking love this freedom to write anything I fucking want to.
Usually I'm just not fucked to write properly for English, because it's all analytical shit on Macbeth and whatever. Writing from a Gandhi quote (The only devils in this world are those running around in our own hearts, and that is where all our battles should be fought.) really gave me an opportunity to show my English teacher my writing potential. Granted, I cheated and used a quirky writing style to obtain my 9/9/9 out of 10/10/10. I'm quite proud of myself, but what I found much more rewarding was the freedom of writing whatever came out of my heart.
|Saw this on Tumblr and found it relevant.|
For my next essay, I can actually write whatever I want. I'm writing a 'letter' to my mother confessing all the 'bad' things I have done. This isn't fiction anymore, this is kind of an autobiography. I'm writing down everything, from trying my first cigarette, trying marijuana for the first time, getting rolling papers, a bong, pipes, -- and then repeating everything. I'm writing about how I got sucked into the vicious cycle of pot, and smoking.
Obviously, I am never showing this piece to my parents. I'm not even sure if I should show it to my English teacher. He seems pretty chill though, he's quite the activist, head of the Human Rights group, kind of a hippie, reads the swear words out loud in class, etc. Even if he judges, I don't think he would say anything about it. Which is kind of why I feel like I can trust him with this essay.
Honestly, I think it really isn't about the essay giving me the opportunity to write this out. I just feel like I LACK someone to talk to about all of this. It's all happening so fast, I am the polar opposite of who I was a year ago.
The other day, I was looking at my Facebook notes, and there was a time we all filled in little mini survey questions. I got to a question, "Would you ever date a smoker?" 14-year-old me answered "No, because they smell bad." Fucking hypocrite, not only am I dating a smoker, I am a smoker myself. Which was even more hypocritical because the next question was "Would you ever smoke?" to which I answered "Fuck no." I even have a clock on the windowsill - which I made myself - saying 'Marlboro Kills'. When my friends come over, they look at the clock, raise their eyebrows. "That's ironic," they snort. I completely agree.
But yeah, I've poured my soul and secrets into this essay and I hope that it would perhaps be taken as a fictional piece. Or at least my teacher will be chill about it. The last thing I want is to end up in a) rehab for marijuana, b) juvi for breaking smoking/alcohol/marijuana possession laws, c) in an office with my Head Of Year for marijuana abuse and whatnot.
|My new glass pipe.|
While I'm on the topic of marijuana, my boyfriend gave me a fucking nice glass pipe today. I really appreciate it and I think he spoils me way too much. He got it because one night when we were out drinking, we put down our smoking shit like pipes, pot, and grinder just in case the police searched us. Then we got kicked out of the bar for 'indecency'. I don't want to talk about that, but yeah. So we're officially blacklisted at Veto. Goodbye cheap pipe and grinder, hello sexy glass pipe.
Remember when I made the Valentine's post about being forever alone? Two months since then, so much has changed. Suck it past me, I have a boyfriend now.
The essay is fucking risky, but fuck. #YOLO.