So my teacher asked me what I thought of her journal activity.
Here you go:
Writing in my journal is like the bitter-sweet taste of that first cigarette out of the box. From the moment you light it, you know that the next five to six minutes of your life will definitely be something to dwell on. Much like the journal, the few moments a night I spend alone with it reminds me of the fact that my problems though plentiful can always be lost in a moment, just a moment but a moment nonetheless and knowing that keeps me from going over the edge. But alas from that same cigarette come repercussions.
A moment of sanity comes with a decadent price much like this journal, cigarettes can also turn into such a mundane and arbitrary habit that eats you from the inside whether you chose to “smoke” or not. but isn’t that what sweet sweet irony is?
Going even further, although I am quite pleased to somewhat end this dissertational torture one can’t help wonder if I will be picking up the urge to grab a stick and start “smoking” about what happened to me today. Miss ******** whatever goal of this journal activity you sought out, this is how it has affected me and whether or not this was suppose to happen, all I can do now is put out this cigarette as I end this…
Thank you…
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