This is mine. No stealies or "Guurl, Imma CUT you" That's right. I will go Bon Qui Qui on your ass!
This is for my Intro to the Essay, and I'm not sure how this is an essay...but it's what I did. Maybe I'll call it a personal essay.
It
is 9:15 in the morning. I’m leaving the
dry, hot air of my dorm room for the biting cold outside. Even though I know I’m not going to be late,
I’m still not happy with myself—I’d wanted to get out the door by 9:10.
I see a little bit of my mother in me, as the elevator
begins to drop. She likes to plan things
out too—all her departures are timed to the minute. Our family has had many a strained and tense
beginning to an outing before.
“Get out the door by…” is actually a phrase that comes
straight from her morning routine. She’s
never late. Strange, that even though
she’s not here, her influence is.
The wind is unforgiving and it makes me wish I had a
face-mask. My face is going numb. Inside my pockets, my hands are getting damp,
clammy.
A need to plan things, time things, is a small example of
an odd human phenomenon. Culture. I think that’s how it starts—a bunch of
little habits passed on down the years.
It’s quirks, preferences, attitudes that a child absorbs and then emits
for the rest of his life. His children
do the same thing, and their children, and their grandchildren.
I guess it comes as no surprise then, that some five
minutes could sour my morning even before I ventured into the subarctic campus. I’ve been trained. As I’m going down the steps in front of the
Library, I’m wishing I hadn’t chosen to schedule early classes this semester as
my mother had told me to—I wouldn’t have to go outside until it was afternoon,
and hopefully not so cold.
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