Composition Essay, Perfect Place to Study

Composition Qtr 1 Week 4 Essay, Perfect Place to Study

            Off into the hidey hole I go.

Somewhere there’s a quiet place. It’s quiet, but not so quiet you feel you’ve been completely swallowed up by your schoolbook and you are now the only human being left in the universe. There is plenty of light to shine through the big window, and outside you can see a weeping willow and a tire swing. Sometimes hummingbirds and butterflies fly past, and when it gets cold, you can watch the cardinals at the feeder while resting your mind and your eyes.

            The walls are a warm, pleasing cream, but not white. White walls make you feel like you’re in a hospital; studying in a white room makes you feel like you’re in a hospital for your brain. But the walls still must be neutral, so you can imagine taking a big, fat Sharpie to them one of these days and pouring everything down on them. Everywhere there is pleasing color, and a beautiful, unique painting or two. Sometimes you need a little bit of distraction; otherwise you’ll lose your mind.

            The floors have soft, thick, deep indigo carpet so you can lay out on it and not get all cramped up as you prop yourself up on your elbows and read ancient Grecian literature. Pillows are strewn about in organized chaos. Little ones. Big ones. Sometimes to effectively learn, you need to build a nest to nestle down in. No bird can hatch her eggs without a nest. No girl can hatch any knowledge without one, either. There is a humongous, very comfortable brown saucer chair, but it mustn’t recline too far; falling asleep while studying is no good. There is a beautiful fireplace and warm blankets and cozy socks because sometimes merely opening up Shakespeare sends a chill up your spine.

            I suppose there must also be a desk, but the rolling chair offers good support, and there is an ottoman to put your feet up on, but it isn’t so high as to drain all the circulation out of your feet and end up hobbling around feeling like little needles are dancing the mambo from your heels to toes. Everything you need is there; paper, pencils, pens, erasers, a computer and printer (complete with access to Google when you get absolutely stuck), and a brilliant and sympathetic scientific calculator named Herv. Herv understands your pain, but disagrees that all algebra books should be burned. He motivates you and is mean when he needs to be. Every procrastinator needs a Herv.

            Finally, up on the wall, right where you’ll always see it, somehow even when your back is turned, is all your inspiration. A crucifix hangs there on the wall, simple yet complex in its beauty and power. It’s easy to forget, but impossible to ignore. When I’m ready to fling myself down and cry simply because I can’t understand, or I’m weary, or I would rather do anything but be educated, I can look up at the cross and find strength. I love you, he silently says. His eyes meet mine, though his head is bowed. He loves me. I must carry on.

            Than out of the hidey hole I must come.

How will we ever learn, if we don’t stop learning for a little while?