Ap English Class Reflection

Sitting at my desk in english class, 15 minutes before the end of the period, feeling a small sense of deep inner satisfaction from my work in the previous double period of Draw/Paint level 4, I held a piece of paper in my hands pertaining the information and guidelines of a common app essay. Somewhat confused, I stared blankly at the paper. The bolded words of the length requirement and the due date stuck out against the pure white like a needle through the skin of my finger. I felt a deep sense of dread as I was trying to brainstorm an immediate idea as to what I could write about. I thought of the lessons I learned from my father on right and wrong. About what my mother taught me through her strong influence in my life choices and how she …show more content…
I couldn't help but to race through my own mind frantically trying to piece together some sort of memory of my past that would fit the description of one of the five prompts, still, nothing. Nothing. I began to make up excuses along with my neighboring classmates, confused, I looked around at the left half of the room, which had began feverishly typing their ideas, some already had a full page typed. I turned my head back to my monitor. Nothing. Blank. My name, the name of my teacher, the name or my course, a date. Nothing. The period was almost over, about 10 minutes remained. I sank into my seat, eyes fixated on the mockingly pure white of the screen. The bell rang and I began heading to my next period class, which was a study hall. A sense of hope entered my mind, “I’ll be able to brainstorm something for sure, then I can get to typing the next day and I’ll be okay.” The only thing that had changed was the surface I stared at, and the people that surrounded me. I began to work on other school work, pushing out the lack of ideas like a bad memory and trying to forget the time wasted staring at nothing. It wasn't until the next day in the computer lab that I started again to think of this assignment, like reopening wounds of incompetence and frustration. I collected two papers on my way in the door, a grading rubric which I carried like a weight which encumbered me, and a story of a man who biked across America. “What does this have to do with anything?” I snapped in my mind. Reading the story, imagining what he went through, I could feel the sun on my face as he told of a hike in the mountains of some place I’ll never think to travel to, I could feel the tiredness in his legs after biking for months on end. “Maybe this is an example of what kind of writing we were supposed to be doing? I've never done anything incredible like this, how is