Stream of Consciousness

  Avery Disclaimer: I whipped this out from 11:19-11:44 p.m., just to give you a reference on my state of mind. Therefore, I am not " sophisticated in [my] argument, thorough in development, or impressive in [my] control of language," according to the College Board. I’m tired, but I chose to write this instead of finishing season 4 of Sherlock because I felt in the mood to write, even if what I was writing made no sense. I didn’t think this would be my first official blog post, mainly because I’m rambling and about as casual as Holden from Catcher in the Rye, so I’ll just hope I can write more insightful and profound things in the future. Our blog is called Stream of Consciousness, but I feel a bit far from conscious right now. I’m also too tired to proofread this. I vividly remember winning the handwriting contest in first grade at Kirk Day School, and I remember being proud that a board of my favorite teachers chose me over my best friend Camryn ...

Christina There was a faint stench of sweat in the air, a dampness that permeated throughout. The atmosphere felt heavy: in fact, my chest heaved up and down just to fill my lungs. And with every inhale, I could sense that the air was filled with a distinct saltiness that you could almost taste. I could hear that the whirling fans were madly operating above: their efforts, ultimately, futile. I was still sweating profusely, and it was evident that the peak of summer had arrived as the rising temperatures were proof enough. Nevertheless, even amidst the sweltering heat, tightly pressed among others, I felt an oddly comforting sense of solidarity. Standing there, shoulder to shoulder, swaying side to side, I was living in the present. This was the first church service I had ever attended, and this memory still graces my mind to this day. I recall singing hymns, annotating my dense bible, and bowing my head in unison with others to pray, marking the completion of our pastor’s...