Holy Fuzzy Socks

It's like when someone tells you to put on your "thinking cap." I just put on my fuzzy socks.  Yeah, they don't have magical powers or anything but I'm a creature of habit.  Everyday after school when I get home, the first thing I do is change into comfy clothes.  This means putting on my fuzzy socks of course! My sisters and mom think they are embarrassing and told me not to wear them around the guy I like.  So I wore them on my date Friday night.  I'm all about staying true to myself, and hey, if he doesn't appreciate the socks then he isn't worth it anyway.  NOW that I have gotten completely off topic about dates and boys (don't be too surprised) maybe I should get back to my writing process.  Okay so next, I check my Facebook and Twitter about a gazillion times until I can convince myself that nothing exciting has happened since the last time I refreshed the page 30 seconds ago.  Nothing exciting is going to happen in the future.  So I go and stare at the pictures of hot guys that I creep routinely for another good five minutes and then it is time to GET DOWN TO BUSINESS.  I need my cup of water because for some reason my mouth always gets really dry when I write for a long time, which speaking of, I'll be right back, got to grab a cup of water.............................................................  I'm back.  Oh my god get ready for this because Ms. Cardona taught me it..... I just write.  If I think about it, I'll get about one sentence written in two hours.  I just write whatever comes to my mind.  Sometimes it doesn't come out in full sentences.  A lot of the time it should be in its own paragraph, maybe its own paper.  But that is the beauty of copying, and cutting, and pasting.  I just spew my ideas.  Then I can go back and say "I can develop this" or "I could write a paragraph focused solely on this."  From there I fine-tune. Clean up the rough edges.  It is still rough, REALLY rough.  But I'm going somewhere, and I know where I am going. Soon enough, okay no, lots of time later, I have a finished product that hopefully I'm proud of.  If this class has taught me anything it is that there is not time to worry about grades.  The only thing I can worry about is doing my best.  So maybe my best is a C, I can live with that knowing that I did my best and I least tried to figure it out.  It still sucks, but life goes on.  It isn't like I'm not going to go to college because I got a C on my rhetorical analysis paper in 11th grade.