Personal Narrative- Daydreaming in Class Essay -- Personal Narrative W

Personal Narrative- DaydreamingThere I sat, trying desperately not to drool in the middle of my daydream. Dare I say class was less than interesting and all I could think of of was my layer? Instead of daydreaming of a hunky man, or even a bright future paved with a golden road of success, I was dreaming of my bed. It was an ordinary college dorm room bed you never acknowledge how many people actually slept in it, or did something else in it, still I still find comfort in its lumps and bumps. In the lustre of my afternoon laziness I decided that daydreaming about my bed wasnt silly at all. In fact I should counter up my bed with a poem and a little cartoon conscription of it. Unfortunately I had forgotten my notebook so I began to scrabble on the prehistoric thing called a desk. Knowing that writing an ode to my terrific bed on another piece of furniture was loaded with irony, I hesitated commemorating my bed on this horrible, and unworthy desk. Since I was out of written report and out of options I shrugged my shoulders at my hesitations and began my ode to my bed.Oh endearing friend of mineSoft, angelic and truly divine.Only I understand your charmStay with me eer and Ill keep you from harm.Okay, so this wasnt a Shakespearian sonnet, still I form it worthy at the time of this creaky and uncommonly hard, desk. This poem was followed by several crude drawings of my bed. Then I found myself enthralled with the words etch into the wooden canvas before me. existence a college desk, there were the token swear words and brilliantly crafted phrases much(prenominal) as Bobby Joe was here. The etchings I found of interest werent even etched in they were merely drawn with pencil. What a daring move for the former to venture. Some peerless could easily ... ... forget to divert your eyes from the professor. Once you make eye contact the spell is broken and he will call on you...What on earth could that mean? I glanced quickly up at my professor only t o catch his eye. Ah, I see one of you is still alive he said maliciously, Can you tell those of us who are still awake what Byron meant when he said She walks in beauty, equal the night. Of Cloudless climes and starry nights...? Oh no I had broken the spell without delay I understood what the prophet of the desk had meant. I mumbled some nonsense about an unrequited love, which seemed to satisfy my professor. He seemed to think he had reached his quota of in-class discussion with my comment, so he went on talking to himself, completely self absorbed. In my discouragement to find the safety of a daydream yet again I began to scrawl in deep, dark marks on the desk, LLH was here.