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

A Psychological Analysis of My WritingGod Ive always hated this ill-advised sign ons business. Everything is placed so god sweared precisely. Everything is so god damn clean. Its as if the bastard is striving for perfection. Strive. Thats entirely he can do. Thinks he knows everything. Thinks he knows how I think, when even I dont know how I think... Man, this fellows office is immaculate. I cant see a speck of dust anywhere. Christ, this guy is authentically anal. Holy Ghost Now, Im starting to sound the likes of freakin Freud. The mans got me thinking like a shrink. This isnt good. No, not at all... Hey Whats that? Its my flippin file. The anal-retentive bastard left out my flippin file. Well, its slightly me...and I have a right to see what hes saying active me--dont I? Heck yes Lets see here. Whats this? Oh, its that stupid exercise he had me do. Geez I wrote that all over twelve weeks ago. I dont know why I had to do that retarded exercise. Its like hes going to find o ut anything about me in a two page piece of exposition using an ext revokeed parable for my conception of life at a university. Jesus, I cant even flirt with 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 isnt that bad. Well, since the shrink is usually fashionably late, I might as well register 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 sort of inauspicious beginning, my vacation devolved quickly into a h ellacious forced march. You see, my friend, who planned the trip, had effect a destination that he thought that we should reach by the end of the third day and that if we didnt reach this destination we couldnt claim to be men. Initially, I thought that the whole trip was a waste of time and property I couldnt believe that anyone, masochists excluded, would want to participate in such an affair.