Personal Narrative: My Personal Rituals

I love living in a small town, it gives me a sense of guaranteed safety and simplicity.

“Casey, your group needs to do the stunt one more time!” coach said imprudently. It happened March 26, 2015; it was at the end of a two hour practice. During the summer months in South Georgia, it is utterly hot and humid, especially in our cheer gym (a warehouse with no air conditioner); it only has two heavy-duty fans and a roll-up door. With this in mind, my group became slightly irritated. Everyone was exhausted; nevertheless we still had to do the stunt anyway.

When it comes to what separates me from other teenagers, there would be quite a bit to tell. I would say a major difference which separates me from my peers is my love for barbershop harmony music. I do not have a quartet of my own; however, I love to sing barbershop tags with other friends at church. I set myself apart from the world because of my beliefs: as a New Testament christian, I believe the bible gives us all instruction concerning spiritual matters.

She carries symbolic bracelets and tangled up headphones and torn playbills. She carries crumpled sheet music, a highlighted play script, a rusty gun and holster, an old calculator, worn out journals for writing fragmented lyrics, passionate feelings, unforgotten memories, and so much more. Twice or three times a week she carries packets of law and a lunch that was packed that morning. She carries a water bottle that is always half empty, or much like herself, half full, depending on how you see it. Wyatt carries the priceless shark tooth necklace she gave him, locked away somewhere unknown. Hannah carries the cheap but meaningful books that she gave her, unread but still valued. Her mother carries the candy she gave her, hard but sweet, a reflection of her soul. Something they all carried in common, was that they all carried something that was given; taking turns, they carried pieces of her shattered heart.

At two in the morning seven years ago, my nine year old self was jolted awake by my mother. Begrudgingly, I peeled my eyes opened and tried to blink the sleep away.

I sat down with my boy on the recliner he hopped up as I read the paper back to him. This seemed Like a cozy get up for a boy to grow up in, but as I began to read my mind was adrift into other things. I had to split sometime soon but I couldn’t help think “what awaits me there?” I thought of a time when I lived in the city, New Orleans. Late one night while I was a private dick I lit my cigarette and began listening to the smooth jazz of the night. The cool wind of the night brushed my face and wavered my smoke as I pulled my hat down I noticed some grifter out of the corner of my eye. I kept walking. The sly grifter moved along the shadows.

The sky melted from a clear blue to creamsicle orange and pinks to a dark, starry navy. I could see the sun’s transition really well inside the little glass diner I worked at, Cosmo’s. The ceiling and walls were constructed entirely of glass, and blue lights made up the floor, giving the small diner a cold, lonely feeling. The booths were silver with pastel blue cushions, the tables silver with shimmery blue tablecloths, pressed under glass. The bar table, that enveloped me, silver with blue lights underneath the glass top, accompanied by tall, blue faux leather bar stools.

Elizabeth is sitting in the living room on the couch in her pajamas. The lights are dim and low and papers are scattered around her. The home is silent except for her fingers tapping away at the keyboard and the occasional shuffling of paper work. A notification sound comes from the computer. Elizabeth leans in and stares at the screen with her eyebrows crumpled as she reads. She leans back and her face becomes blank as she stares off into the distance. She closes the laptop, stands up and goes into the bedroom. As she approaches the bedroom door she reaches up to the top of the doorframe, grabs and object and puts it into the pocket of her pajama pants. Elizabeth enters the bedroom, climbs onto the bed, brings her knees to her chest, wraps

I decide to call out sick and go to a thrift store in Madison in hope of finding a couple pair of pants for work and to get my mind off my mom’s situation. I don’t have much luck on either count. After ten minutes, I leave the thrift store unable to stop thinking about my mom. I make my way back to my car in the parking lot groping for the car keys in my jeans pocket.

“So, uh, you’re not going to believe this.” These are the words I hear upon answering my phone. My friend continues, “I just dropped off my wife at work, and well, one tire is facing straight and the other one is not.” I get dizzy and my face lights up red as I hear the description of my car. My friend continues to stammer as he tries to explain what happened, but I don’t listen to any of it. I know that I’m getting the bill no matter what happened. “Well, have it towed to a shop.” I say, most likely interrupting his continued jabbering. “Call me when it’s there and I’ll take care of it.” This was not the first, or last, time that I had to make sure an unplanned event could be taken care of out of my pocket. In most people's lives there will

I am a rather complex individual, but one quality that stands out about me is that I am very passionate. While I am passionate about many subjects, I have great passionate for a select few. First, I am very passionate about entertainment. For as long as I can remember I have always adored television shows, movies, and books. As soon as school let out I would rush home to watch Thundercats with my oldest brother, Mark. During my school vacation, I would spend my time reading. Therefore, my mother said it was hard to keep up with purchasing books for me to read. When my family went to the mall they knew I could always be found in the book store. Finally, I am passionate about Comic Conventions. My oldest brother introduced me to a convention

In the middle of August, during my transition from sophomore year to junior year, I started working with my grandfather with his investment business. My grandfather lacked most computer literacy, so I was mainly there to print out reports for his three person company. Working for my grandfather would later set me up with the opportunity to take my first step towards adulthood.

August 20, the day I have dreaded since the end of school last year. Hi, the name’s Francisca, but you can call me Fran. My life has kinda sucked ever since my brother got lost nine years ago. My parents have looked for him ever since. They said they would at least like to find a body to have peace that he isn’t suffering. I have dark, almost black hair, and eyes the color of the Caribbean Sea. My two friends, Jess and Kate, are the closest thing I have to best friends at the place people call getting an education. Otherwise known as college. I’m also starting my sophomore year in college at Mead University. Well, let’s get it poppin’.

My brain was overwhelmed, I had many ideas but I didn’t exactly know how to put it all together and make it look like a whole big movement, I was nervous and confused at times, and at the end of each rehearsal I would say to myself what else can I do because it felt like I was out of movements. That was the cycle of my mind during this process. I was very excited about this project even though I knew it was going to be a lot of workIbut I didn’t think that I had to be so detailed with everything to make sure that the message got across. Something that helped me a lot with this process was doing a proposal before starting rehearsal, which allowed me to have a strong idea about my piece and have a set of movements already planned out. I already

In the most direct sense, I need change. A change in my routine, myself, and how I feel about my abilities. I feel very stagnant and lost in familiarity. This program is a gentle way of "kidnapping" myself and placing myself across an ocean in a new environment, upon which I will have no choice but to break up my behavior patterns.