So last night I wrote my second essay for my creative nonfiction class. When I say last night, I mean into the wee hours of the morning. And then up again in the slightly later wee hours of the morning. I slept for about 3 hours, and created one of the worst pieces I think I have ever put my name on. In fact, my name isn’t even on my paper–that’s how embarrassed I am by it. I don’t think that I would feel this way if it weren’t for one thing. My professor chose one student to be the first to be peer critiqued in class, and I was it. I honestly have no clue why this was. I wanted to ask, but I never did. This imposing pressure to create such a strong paper really threatened me. It means a lot when there are going to be a lot of people reading a paper of yours, especially about your personal experiences. Not only was this a paper about me, but it had a specific theme: mysteries, investigations, and experiments. When in my life have I ever solved a mystery? The answer: never. When have I solved an experiment? Simple. Never. Not even in a fifth grade science class have I utilized the scientific method, created a hypothesis, etc. This comes across in my paper. I even stated it in there: “I guess this is more of an anti-experiment, huh?” Well.. sorry to disappoint the entire English 325 class, but writing was definitely NOT on my mind last night. Sorry y’all have to read such a pathetic paper!