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I begin to regain consciousness. I flutter my eyes, still adjusting to the light of day that poured through my window. I look up at my alarm clock, it’s flashing twelve o’ clock repeatedly. Great, the power went out. Thanks, TECO. So, I flop over like a beached whale, and pick up my phone to check the time. It’s nine twenty-three. Something is different about my lock screen. A little bird, that looked like Tweety Bird but blue was waiting on my screen. It’s a notification from Twitter. I proceed to slide, to unlock my phone. Typed in my passcode and there I was. I had entered the Twitter realm. The notification I had received was from @raucy2k70, a good friend of mine. He had re-tweeted me. The tweet that he re-tweeted was one that I posted the night before. It said, “EVERY GIRL DESERVES TO GO TO A BALL”. As I relaxed in my bed, I thought about that tweet. Why did I tweet that? Who knows. And you know what? That’s the beauty of twitter. It allows me to unleash my thoughts without concern. As I remained in my bed, phone held above me, I released a new tweet. “Release the hound!” I sighed, then rolled out of bed, covers chasing after me as I walked to the door of my room. I strolled on in to the kitchen, where I found Pablo, my tiny noble beast of a dog. We gazed in to each other’s eyes for a good minute. Believe it or not, but it was actually quite romantic. He proceeded to lick his chops and I knew what time it was. Breakfast. I generously gave Pablo a hearty scoop of puppy chow, and then I wondered, what’s on the menu for the master? I flung open the doors to the refrigerator, peered inside, and unfortunately, was left disappointed. Today was a day that I was truly craving a mean breakfast. So in order to solve this problem, I came up with a solution, twitter. I composed a new tweet, “Would anyone care to accompany me on a quest to defeat hunger? #breakfast”. Within minutes, I receive replies from @evgain and

 

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@codemanrobinson, both dear friends of mine. I whip out my phone, as if I were dueling in an old western and the phone was my sidearm. I then begin to open up the messaging department. I open my conversation with Evan (@evgain), and proceed to text him, “Do you want me to pick you up?” As I’m anxiously waiting for a reply, I look over previous text messages that we had shared. The most recent conversation that we had shared was the two of us starting off our baseball commentating career on a Rays vs. Yankees game. I was furious because they had just taken David Price out of the game, and put in JP Howell. I then correctly predicted a homerun by Robinson Cano. I then added a really annoyed/ semi-mad faced Emoji, just to emphasize how upset I was. Before I knew it, Evan had answered with a definite yes. In response to that, I proclaimed that my pewter chariot will soon arrive at his doorstep. (I drive a pewter Camry.) As I went to grab my keys, I saw a taxi cab key chain that my friend, Cody (@codemanrobinson), had given me after a recent trip that he had taken to the Big Apple. My feet came to a halt and I once again dug in my pockets for my cell phone. I scrolled down to Cody and I’s conversation and then jotted down a message, “DTG?” (Down To Grub?). Once again as I waited for the arrival of his message, I reminisced over our past talk. Cody had informed of how his dog, Rudy, had puked all over his new Nike running shoes. For some odd reason, I asked Cody what color it was. Thinking to myself, I thought why would I ever in the right mind want to know that..? I guess I wasn’t in the right mind at the time. Cody then replied to that message, “Nikes: orange and white. Puke: lime green”. Looking over this, all I could imagine were some shoes that looked like the flag of Ireland, just with more texture. Before I could begin another thought, my phone began to

 

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have a little two second seizure. Cody had induced this seizure. His message informed me that he was definitely, DTG. He begged me for a lift, and escaped my inner Full House as I said, “You got it dude”. I stormed out of my house, desperate to fulfill my quest of the mighty breakfast. When I reached Evan’s doorstep, I sent him a simple text, “Here”. His door swung open, he had a big grin on his face, I’m guessing because he was too excited about breakfast that he just couldn’t contain it. We had casual conversation about the weather, the gym, dogs, Celine Dion, you know, typical man stuff. I eased up on the gas and applied the brake, for we had arrived at the place where Cody resides. He didn’t receive any special treatment and was given the same message, “Here”. He strolled out of his garage, wearing his orange and white Nikes. He pulled open the car door and I instantly began interrogating him if he cleaned those shoes or not. In a very defensive manner, he claimed that they were as good as new. I sighed with relief. We then proceeded to venture over to First Watch, a fine eating establishment. As we continued down the highway, there was a break in the conversation. I began to ponder the fact of how this may not have happened without twitter or text messaging. I then gave a quick praise to the technology Gods. This moment of meditation was surely broken by the buzzing of what seemed to be a bug, but was really my phone. It was my mother. She had assaulted me with three texts within four seconds. A new record? Possibly. “Where are you?” “What are you doing?” “Who are you with?” Me, being annoyed with my mother gave her a response that was short and to the point. “First Watch. Breakfasting. Evan and Cody.” I was just trying to convey my irritation. A speedy reply was indeed expected and she of course did not disappoint. “Don’t forget your thank you notes.” Oh joy, just what I wanted to do with my Saturday afternoon. We were seated at First Watch, and we

 

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promptly ordered. I ordered the southwestern omelet, Cody with the stack of banana pancakes and Evan with the berry-filled crepes. We scarfed down our meals, as we were all awaiting for our feast for many moments now. I then announced to the table that I had been assigned an urgent mission from my mother, to finish my graduation thank you cards. My buds were bummed when they got the news, but showed understanding. We picked up our checks and were once again on our way. I sped down the streets in my pewter stallion and delivered my friends to their houses. I then arrived to mine, stepped out in to the steamy Florida world and walked right inside my house. Glaring down the hallway is my mother, in one hand there was a stack of cards, the other stamps. I slouched over, not excited to begin this tedious process. I sat at the breakfast bar in my kitchen, armed with a black pen. A wonderful thing I find about graduation is the fact that people you hardly know or, may have never even heard of will send you large amounts of money. Just splendid! …Until you have to think of what to put in their thank you card. I usually would begin with “Dear (insert name here)…” a typical letter, I know. Following, would me praising them with thanks for such a generous gift. An example would be, “Thanks you so much for your gift! It will help me out so much in the future!” Although in reality, twenty-five dollars isn’t much but a couple of pizzas. I’d then continue on with, “I hope everything is going well with you and your family!” Just a continuation of generic thank you card sayings. I’d go on to inform them of what I will begin my post-high school life with, by attending the Florida State University. Then, of course, a concluding thank you, just to show my gratitude. It’s not that writing thank you cards is a difficult task, it’s just that I find them annoying because of their similarities and time consumption. Now one of my least favorite parts of thank you cards, the postal

 

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information. Now before I pain myself through this, I need a drink. I sluggishly reach the refrigerator, where I reach out for a grape propel, my drink of choice. On my way back to my duties, I grab my mother’s contact book. I flip through the pages to find the correct addresses for the people I am sharing my thanks to. I scribble down the address, slap on a stamp and move on to the next one. I repeat this step like a well-oiled machine for approximately thirty-two minutes, when I finally finished my task. Exhausted from all my hard work, I go off in to the bedroom. I shut the door, and graciously sprawled out in to my bed. I turn on the television to Animal Planet, my all time favorite channel. A documentary about the Zambezi River in Africa is showing. As I watch the wildebeest run the gauntlet of migrating across a river full of crocodiles, I began to think of my day. I truly enjoyed the day so far, nothing really went wrong, other than those pesky thank you cards. Out of no where, flashed a commercial for the Kaplan Writing Center. I thought to myself, “Man, it’d be so unfortunate to have to go to a place like that”. I whispered to myself, “thank you, dear mother of mine”, for the fact that I had never had to go to a place like that. I felt a deep sensation in the pit of my stomach, a sense of guilt, that I may be selfish, for people in the world are not capable of writing. It made me feel as if I take writing for granted, since I don’t write an essay everyday. Then I realized, I do write everyday, just not in essay form. Thoughts are translated in different forms, like text or tweets. Even my thank you cards are of some intellectual thought! I just never realized how important writing is in my every day life. As I closed my eyes, I had a smile on my face, knowing that I take full advantage of my true ability to write and translate thoughts everyday.

 

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Paper 1- draft 3  

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