Where Do You See Yourself in 10 Years?

This is me, ten years later. Now this blog isn’t going to be about that David Copperfield kind of crap, because I don’t feel like going into it, if you want to know the truth. This is about what I have done for the past ten years of my life. After I wrote a book called ‘the Catcher in the Rye’ I spent some time in a mental hospital. By some time mean a little over two years or so, but that doesn’t really matter. After I was ‘Excused’ from the mental hospital my parents sent me back to school. For three years my parents sent me to two more private schools, both of which were filled with morons and both of which I was kicked out of. The first school I went to was called Old Town Preparatory. When I first got interviewed they gave me that there the headmaster gave me a phony smile and shook my hand saying ‘Its a pleasure.’ I honestly hated that. I don’t know why but I hate when people say stuff like that.

You know that they don’t actually mean that and that they say that to everyone who has walked through that door. Well anyway, I lasted three years there before they told me I did not apply myself enough to succeed there and that many other kids would love to have the opportunity to be there. Soon after I was told that the headmaster had emailed my parents asking them to enroll me elsewhere for the following year. and he told me it was a goddamn pleasure to meet me. After Old Town Preparatory I went to a larger private school called Timothy Laurence Preparatory School. You cannot tell m you haven’t heard of It because their advertisements are everywhere, Including inside the school. Anyway, I graduated from there at the end of that year. I don’t know why I went to all of these ‘preparatory schools’ because I don’t see what good they have done me. I mean how often do you tell people what high schools you went to? You don’t. Well after graduating I spent a whole goddamn year back at home.

After getting an ear full about not being at college from my parents I was getting sick of it, but Phoebe convinced me to go to a school of creative writing. I didn’t want to be far away from Phoebe so I went to Pennsylvania State University. I know, don’t ask me how I got in. So In the first semester they made me watch the movie ‘Romeo and Juliet’ and write journals from both of their perspectives from the day they met. It was a crap movie if you want to know. A tacky start and predictable ending. Long story short, they die for love. We were told to remember how young they where which made me feel like a moron. I am a little over ten years older then them and I’m not killing myself for love. I haven’t even found love for goddamn sakes. The second year we were given a bunch of prompts and had to elaborate about them. This irritated me because I thought in creative writing you wrote about whatever you wanted. I mean, Isn’t that what creative writing is? Last year we were aloud to write about whatever we liked but we had to write in different formats. Whether they where poems or persuasive essay you still had a choice. This moron named David Bass in my class used to suck up to the professor and would write essays like ‘Why Creative Writing is the best major’ and ‘Professing is an art not a job’.

What a phony if I have ever seen one. Then there is the final year of this ten year blog. My senior year of college.’ Now, don’t get me wrong, I am still finishing my senior year, but this is where my story ends. At least for my ten year blog. I recognized lately that the only person I talk to is that moron David Bass. I don’t know why I talk to him I just sort of… do. Everyone else here wants to write a goddamn movie or write a book that becomes a movie. I don’t see why you would want to have your book become a movie. David is always talking about this story he wrote called ‘As Time Goes By’ and how he wants to make it a movie, but I disagree. I think that Hollywood would ruin the book. Well anyway, I am a week away from graduating, and Phoebe is in her first year of Pencey Prep. She is going into the ninth grade and I sometimes remember the night I came home and saw her. I wish we could scroll back time. Back to when we where kids and stuff. Back to a time before this ten year blog. Well this is me, ten years later. Ten years from now you will probably hear about the failed attempts of a career.

Cite this page