Literacy narrative revised draft

I addressed some parts I didn't like, improving the pacing and stuff like that. There were also some dumb spelling errors I addressed, since I was transcribing it as fast as possible.

I've always been an avid reader throughout my life. Throughout elementary I was reading all sorts of fantasy novels and comics, but when I graduated to middle school, I never really fit in anywhere. So I just sat at home and read on weekends. All of these memories just sort of blend together, amalgamating into one big lonely memory. Sometimes I'd finish off a book, only to pick up another and burn through it, then revisit the first one. Sometimes I'd get halfway through a book, get bored, and then start another. I read anything in my house, and I mean anything, ranging from Christopher Paolini's breakout hit Eragon, to Stephen King's Tommyknockers, to the translated online manual for the German WWII heavy tank, the Tiger I. But the one memory that really sticks out, was about halfway through the 8th grade.

My day started out with waking up late and not being able to catch a shower, then having to run to the bus stop saxophone in hand, then getting on the bus to find all the seats were filled; except for the one right next to the highschoolers that would constantly taunt me, of course. I get to school to find a field of tests and unfinished homework waiting for me,then the brief reprieve that is lunchtime rolls around. I find an utter lack of money in my lunch account, and I decide going hungry is better than begging my few friends for food. The last half of the day finishes uneventfully, with the rain clouds rolling in, dark and ominous. I hop back onto the bus, mercifully at the front, and show up to an empty house. As it turns out my parents had to work late.

Breathing a long dejected sigh, I realize after all the testing, I had no homework. The rest of the day was mine. So I grab the book I had just started, the Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring, and decide to go hang out in the woods for a bit.

I had a friend who lived in the same neighborhood as I a long time ago, and we spent quite a bit of time out there in that forest. We let our imaginations run wild, slaying droves upon droves of imaginary bad guys, building forts out of fallen trees and branches, maybe stealing a tarp or two from our dads for the cause. He had moved away that summer, leaving me pretty much alone in terms of that age group, and I wasn't too fond of hanging out with 7 year old girls. We had built this little house out there, maybe six feet by six feet on its edges, just tall enough for us to crawl into. It was constructed out of two fallen trees, laying on top of each other at a 90 degree angle, with a thick branch forming the last point.  We then weaved branches to form mostly windproof walls, and then wove a tarp into the roof for waterproofing. It was full of memories of food, snuck out there against the requests of my friends parents, camp outs, airsoft wars, and it was probably my favorite place to be. Thinking of those days lead me to another bout of melancholy loneliness.

I found my way to this little cabin, book in hand, as the rain really started to fall  I quickly crawl inside and find the comfiest spot in the dirt possible.

I thought, "I really need to get some cushions out here."

There was enough light leaking through the artificial blue sky for me to read comfortably, so I crack open the book.

I had always been a fan of Lord of the Rings, especially after seeing the movies, but I never realized just how much story there was to it.  I found myself lost in a near endless sea of names and references, having to go back and cross reference names with acts, to see who was behind what, what influenced who, and what so-and-so meant with this. I ended up staying out there, reading halfway through the 398 page book over the course of 3 hours, but I was so wrapped up in it that the time passed only felt like 3 minutes. I feel something vibrate, snapping me back into reality. It was just starting to get dark out. It vibrates again, and I pull my phone out of my pocket.

I clear my throat, feeling awkward for letting that much time slip by unnoticed.

"H-Hello?" I nervously stammer into the receiver.

"Hey, time to come home, dinner's ready. Where are you?" my dad replies, with a slightly worried tone.

"I was just out in the woods." I breathe, relieved.

"Alright, see you in a second."

I crawl out of the shanty, covering the knees of my pants in dirt, and stretch out a bit. The rain had stopped and there was the greatest smell of all, the springtime smell of fresh soil after a warm rain. I stepped back out onto the road, book tucked under my arm, feeling refreshed, miles better than I had before I had gotten home.

My day had transformed from one of frustration, depression, loneliness and bittersweet memories to one with a refreshed outlook. Maybe the day wasn't that bad. It put things in perspective for me. Not getting a shower in the morning sure is a lot better than getting stabbed by some wraith and then having to carry a ring that slowly turns you crazy across a continent.

I remember this thought the most, since it has influenced me in quite a few ways.

It really secured my love for the outdoors, doing things like camping and hunting. It really lets me get away from all the stresses of daily life, and get back in tune with nature. There's something just amazing about being alone in the woods, watching, waiting, listening. You are a fly on the wall to nature, watching how it works. It really reminds you of how small you can be.

Second, it secured my love for writing and reading. There's just something about being able to form worlds, create personalities, spin up a web of history with just a few taps of a keyboard, or strokes of a pen, while simultaneously being able to wipe it all out with a quick ctrl+a, delete. Being able to tap into what another person is thinking, decode the symbolism and metaphor, to find what they truly mean is like nothing else. Being able to see a snapshot of life from a book published 30, 40, even 50 years ago is amazing. Granted, some people take it a little too far and smash the reader over the head with a sack full of bricks labeled "Allegory", it's still interesting to see how another person feels about a topic without explicitly saying it.

Third most, it showed me that what goes on in my daily life really isn't that big ofa  deal. Flunked a test? Oh well. Just be sure to study next time, and retake it. Forget the homework? No big deal, just another day to study it. Granted, that sort of lackadaisical thinking gets me into trouble, it generally leads me to take things slower and I screw up less.

I think I wouldn't be the person I am today, without days like the above help me put things into perspective. I wouldn;t enjoy reading and writing nearly as much as I do now without them, either. Most of all I don't think I would appreciate the outdoors ads much as I do now. All in all, reading made me who I am today.