personal narrative
personal narrativeI am a very complicated person. Or is that weird? Unusual? Maybe it’s eccentric, I really don’t know. I think the best word to describe myself is unique. But then again, everyone is unique in their own way, but isn’t that exactly what unique means? Doing things different than everyone else…. being yourself, and completely unlike the rest of the world. See now I’m babbling, I have a tendency to do that when I get nervous. Now I’m thinking, why am I writing that I’m nervous? Why should I be nervous? This is just some silly little personal narrative that I have to do for some not so silly little high school English class. But it’s more than that. It is the beginning of things I can’t even fathom. It’s the window into the first major writing assignment of my junior year; it is the porthole into my inner being. Have you ever seen “Being John Malkovich?” Well, I haven’t but I’m pretty sure it’s something about John Cusack finding a hidden door in his office or something that when walked through transports you into John Malkovich’s head. Well, this paper is that door and I am John Malkovich. And that scares me. I am really a coward at heart. Or at least, I think I am. It’s pretty funny that I see myself that way because if you were to ask one of my friends they would probably tell you that I had pretty big “cajones.” It is so strange that the way you perceive yourself and the way others see you can be so dissimilar.
I am always afraid to get up in front of the class to speak. It terrifies me. When the moment is rapidly approaching and I know that in approximately 2 minutes I am going to have to get out of my chair, walk to the front of the class and be stared down by my peers, my heart starts to pound in my chest. Tension sets in. The sweat starts to trickle down from my brow and my voice begins to shake. My name is called; the Moment of Reckoning is upon me. Every thought in my head dissipates as I take position at the podium, or what have you, and then the strangest thing happens. I’m perfectly fine. And I wasted a good worry for no reason. Once I got going, there was no stopping me.
Did I mention what a huge dork I am? I don’t think so. But trust me; I get the gold medal here. I can sit and play FreeCell for hours on end. I have every single episode of Dawson’s Creek on tape. If ever a sesame seed should grace my food with it’s presence, I must scrape it off or else it won’t pass my lips. The person, with whom I have the most inside jokes than any one else in the world, is my mom. I’ve still got blue bows all over my walls leftover from my childhood. Ever since I was 9, I’ve collected Archie books, and my collection holds over 300 Digests (not to mention around 20 of the traditional comic book style). I am terribly upset that Young Americans ended. I am so in love with the Matrix, I have Matrix Code running as my screen saver. When I decide I love a band, I have to have all of their CD’s even if never listen to them, just to have them. I am less experienced in “the ways of the world” than any one I know, even more so than the girl my friends and I dubbed, “Most Likely to Die a Virgin.” Although I can’t say I’ve never looked around a room searching for someone more “losery” than I am, just to make myself feel better. Does that make me even geekier?
My life revolves around what’s on TV that night. I actually have a schedule. Mondays I ‘space out’ during sci-fi time at “Roswell” at 9 on the WB. On Tuesdays I travel back in time to “That 70’s Show” at 8 on FOX. Wednesdays I hang on the “Creek” with the rest of the gang at 8 on the WB. On Thursdays, it’s Must See TV with all my “Friends” and “Will & Grace” at NBC. And on Fridays, I trip over to “Grosse Point” at 8:30 on the WB. I am a sick, sick person. But I’m not obsessed with TV. I’m not…I’m not I tell you!
I’ve got this cool older brother, who can’t go anywhere without making friends and not to say that I reside in his shadow or anything (I live in an equal opportunity household) but it’s hard to grow up the youngest sibling and the biggest dork in the family. Not that Evan is perfect; he’s far from it, but where being cool is concerned, he is definitely kingpin. Am I jealous? A tad. Does he irritate me and make fun of me to no end? Of course. Do sometimes I want to kill him? Oh yeah. Am I terribly and unreasonably proud to have him as my brother? Definitely. We have an indefinable, “unique” relationship that I cherish. I can remember instances where we’ve fought over the stupidest little things. Like this one period where my mom bought two kinds of cookie dough; the regular, fat-full, and oh-so delicious kind for Evan and the reduced fat, not-so delicious, sticky kind for me. This went on for a while until one day when I decided I didn’t want mine anymore; I wanted his. So I made his cookies and they were good. That is until he came home and discovered that I, a second rate cookie maker, had sacrificed the “good dough.” He called it “such a waste” and there was yelling, name-calling and a lot of physical abuse. When my mom came onto the scene to mediate, she went so far as to threaten, “That’s it! I’m never buying cookie dough again!” Then after we each went to our corner of the house to cool down, there was joking around and goofing off. He does this thing where he wraps his arms around me so tight that I can barely breathe but I have a bout of this uncontrollable laughter. It hurts so much but I can’t help laughing. I guess it’s because of the pressure it puts on my diaphragm. This one time he sat on my stomach and tears of laughter mixed with pain rolled down my face that was red as a tomato. Every time we are together I learn something new about myself. Have you ever tried to define yourself through someone else? It really gives you a chance to take a step out of your body and see yourself in a completely new way, through someone else’s eyes. This is a wonderful thing.
I am constantly reinventing myself. Everyda Having the capacity to be a different person everyday. But it’s not all about a change of scenery; it’s about finding all the different parts of me and putting them together so that it works. Maybe I’ll know the way it works for me tomorrow. Maybe tomorrow it will just be perfect. Maybe tomorrow will be slightly off and will require a little tweaking. Who knows? That is y I’m a new Marnie. Maybe today I want to be Marnie-Version 2.0. Tomorrow I’ll be Marnie-Version 2.0 Revised. Who knows? That is absolutely one great thing about being this age. what’s so wonderful about the concept of “tomorrow;” possibility, options, choices, things you would do differently than the way you did them today. It’s like being reborn. Everyday is beginning of the rest of your life. Trite but true. Being able to start over with the rise of the sun is such a gift. But back to the point (there I go babbling off again) Marnie-Final Version is nowhere in sight. People keep telling me that I have to start making choices about my future, where I want to go to college, what I want to major in, what I “want to be when I grow up.” I am only 16. I have no idea what I want to do with this life, who I want be, or what I want to accomplish. All I know is that I don’t know.