Wednesday, October 2, 2019

A Psychological Analysis of My Writing :: Writing Education Teaching Essays

A Psychological Analysis of My Writing "God! I've always hated this stupid shrink's office. Everything is placed so god damned precisely. Everything is so god damn clean. It's as if the bastard is striving for perfection. Strive. That's all he can do. Thinks he knows everything. Thinks he knows how I think, when even I don't know how I think..." "Man, this fellow's office is immaculate. I can't see a speck of dust anywhere. Christ, this guy is really anal. Holy Ghost! Now, I'm starting to sound like freakin' Freud. The man's got me thinking like a shrink. This isn't good. No, not at all..." "Hey! What's that!?! It's my flippin' file. The anal-retentive bastard left out my flippin' file. Well, it's about me...and I have a right to see what he's saying about me--don't I? Heck yes!" "Let's see here. What's this? Oh, it's that stupid exercise he had me do. Geez! I wrote that over twelve weeks ago. I don't know why I had to do that moronic exercise. It's like he's going to find out anything about me in a two page piece of exposition using an extended metaphor for my conception of life at a university. Jesus, I can't even remember what metaphor I used. I hope I compared the university to a colon, because of all the crap I have to deal with. Alright, maybe school isn't that bad. Well, since the shrink is usually fashionably late, I might as well read the damn thing..." -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Last summer, a few of my friends and I went on a canoe trip in the Quetico. I had never been on a canoe trip prior to this excursion, so I only had a vague idea of what I would be subjected to on such a trip. I naively believed that the whole affair would be something like a vacation absent the amenities, but, as I soon discovered, it was anything but a vacation. At the end of our first day of paddling, I was wet and exhausted. From this rather inauspicious beginning, my vacation devolved quickly into a hellacious "forced march." You see, my friend, who planned the trip, had set a destination that he thought that we should reach by the end of the third day and that if we didn't reach this destination we couldn't claim to be men. Initially, I thought that the whole trip was a waste of time and money; I couldn't believe that anyone, masochists excluded, would want to participate in such an affair.

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