Tuesday, March 22, 2011

Flashback Post #2: It's A Typical Day (For My Foot)

Last week, I posted a journal entry I had written EXACTLY ten years earlier.  It was rather nostalgic - so much that I marked my calendar with all the dates an entry had been written.  Lucky for you, it's one of those days!

I am sharing a second entry from my Senior English course, which was once again written exactly ten years ago.  It's interesting to see how my writing has (or has not) evolved in a decade.  Unlike my last post, this one has more of a creative edge.  Like the last post, I got an A!  Just sayin'...

I am typing this exactly as it appears in my notebook; no adjustments or corrections are being made.  And just to clarify, we were given bonus points for correctly using words from the corresponding vocabulary unit the week each entry was assigned - in case you were wondering where some of these words came from.

Oh!  And remember, I was SEVENTEEN when I wrote this.  Adjust your standards accordingly.

Date: March 22, 2001

Prompt: Describe a typical day in your life from sun up until bedtime from the point of view of your foot.

     Every day I am forced to go through the same redundant routine.  An obnoxious blaring sound signals the rest of me to awake.  There are a few minutes of solitude before the blaring sound repeats.  Some days, this occurs only twice.  Other days, it can be as many as five times.  I don't get it.
     Eventually, I am dragged by a dark, hairy pole - a rather attractive pole, if I do say so myself - from the comfort and seclusion of a warm fleece blanket where I was resting comfortably.  Seriously?!  I'm plunged at full speed to some furry gray surface that tickles me beyond belief.  The itching, combined with the nausea from the rapid drop, is never a pleasant way to start my morning.
     I'm taken to a room where I slide across a series of white ice cubes.  Once I reach the other side of the room, I'm hoisted into a large porcelain carton where it is always raining.  The rain eventually stops and I'm dragged back on the ice.  Surprisingly, the ice is never as cold as it was before.  Perhaps it melts during the rain storm.  That would explain the puddle of water I'm usually standing in.
     Once out of the container, a fluffy animal comes and tickles me to death, though sometimes, it gets a bit rough and I feel like I'm burning.  It seems to depend on the day.  Afterwards, I'm dragged back to the gray surface and locked inside a room of white cotton.  I remain in this room a good twenty minutes or so - sensing a lot of commotion up above - before the entire room is shoved inside a moist environment with a rather unpleasant stench.  This is where I spend the bulk of my monotonous day.
    As for what happens over the next several hours, I'm really not sure.  I stay in this room for a long time before I'm set free.  Early in the day, I sense being pressed firmly against a black rubber pad, where every so often, I'm jerked slightly to the right.  My hearing is not the greatest, but I know I arrive at a school.  The attractive pole I'm attached to does an awful lot of climbing at this school, but once arriving at something called a class, I usually get to just hang around for a good hour or so.  Of course, I'm usually jerked around quite a bit - and knocked against a metal bracket far more often than I care to be.
     Thankfully, when I get out of this school environment, I'm quickly set free from the dark, moist environment where I spend most of my day.  My toes take a while to adjust, but the rest of me adapts quickly.  If I'm being honest, I much prefer to spend my days naked.  Does that make me an exhibitionist?  I guess it does.  But I hate being stuffed inside all these rooms, unable to breathe.  I want to get out there and see the world.  The interesting thing is, there are about three months a year where I hardly ever get locked away.  I can't quite figure out why, but whatever I do to earn that, I need to be doing more.  Hmmm, maybe I can try perspiring more.  That might work.  Besides, I think I look dead sexy with a tan, and you can't get a tan being stuck inside all day. 
     My days are pretty much the same.  It's not a comfortable lifestyle.  There's a lot of pain in my line of work.  But, every so often, if I'm itching really bad, something swipes down and massages my body.  It's those moments that I live for.  Sadly, there isn't much else to live for - at least nothing I can speak openly about here.  
     Okay, fine.  You twisted my heel. Here goes....I have a fetish for skinny-dipping.  Don't judge me!   


  1. I love it how the foot has a vague sense of what is going on, but is ignorant of the details. Must be very confusing, life as a foot ...

  2. This was hilarious. So inventive and creative...well done!

  3. I thought this was hilarious. I wish my high school English teacher had been that creative.

  4. This was excellent to read, Paul. Well done.

  5. I'm never going to think of my feet the same way again. Awesome writing. You bring this to what your writing now. I don't see anything standing in your way. (Hugs)Indigo

  6. Great post! ... and funny ending I must say, LOL!


  7. Always nice to reconnect with our inner weirdness. :)

  8. Definitely A-worthy, Paul!

    I LOL'd the whole way!

  9. Proof! You've always had the goods, Paul. I like to think our writing is similar to fine wine, getting better with age, but you had head start!

  10. lol. Not bad for 17 -- not bad for any ages really.

  11. Thank you everyone for the kind words. If any of you have some pieces from back in the day, I encourage you to pull them out and revisit them. If you're like me, you will cringe through most of it - but that's a good thing. It means you can identify your own personal growth.

    Though, I have to admit, despite all the cringes, there are moments that foreshadow the writer you'd become. For me, the above piece shows the roots of the very same humor I try incorporating in my current W.I.P. It's hard to explain, but a few lines allow me to hear my protagonist's voice, even though this piece has nothing to do with my story.

    Just a thought.

  12. It's funny how we all experience our shifting and evolving 'voice', yet so much of ourselves remain, even through the last ten years (17-27) which would have to be the formative writing years of our lives.

    I'm eager to revisit some of my old work now, but most of it is 15 000 km away in old boxes and battered notebooks. Perhaps this experiment should be a mandatory exercise for us all?

  13. I love your site and as I browsed your blog I decided to award you the Creative Blog Award.

    Go to http://astorybookworld.blogspot.com/p/awards.html and pick up your award.



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