Tripping through Life: Post 2 after gf helped edit, still rough

This one is down to 405 words:

Moving is just like a trip, except it’s usually permanent. My father once promised me that we would never have to move from Maryland. He lied. I’m not sure if I forgive him. Chicago sucks. It’s cold here and my friends are all in Maryland. I’m not good enough here; not smart enough to be in all the top classes, not good enough to play soccer for school. In Chicago I don’t have friends to hang out with all the time, unlike Maryland. In Chicago I am really fast, but I wasn’t in Maryland. That’s one good thing that came out of this trip.

Vacations. They’re another type of trip. Vacations became especially fun for me when I was around 13. I used to like to go on vacations and try to hook up with AMGAP, as many girls as possible. Vacations were a good way to release built up raging hormones. I never kissed many girls at home, especially not in Chicago. Then I went on my last vacation, a 40-day trip through the west coast, with the intent to get with AMGAP, but then I met this girl…

Spain. For the first time ever I left on an intercontinental trip. This trip was more than a vacation, but not quite a move. I stayed with a family I’d never met for a month, the longest time away from home by a considerable margin. I learned how to speak decent Spanish which helped me achieve my first A in Spanish and become a student teacher for my Spanish teacher. I tried foods I would never consider eating here. I stayed with a boy around my age and then he came and lived with me for a month. Just when I thought that was the best summer possible 2009 came...

West Coast Connections American Voyageur Trip 2, the best trip of my life. It was 40-day tour of the west coast with 40 awesome kids to go with, what could be better? This became my longest time away from home. I made great new friends. I also meet the girl I want to marry. On this trip I learned so many life skills like doing the laundry and cooking.

Life. What a trip. I’ve learned a lot from my past trips, and I’ll take many more in life. Soon I’m going to college, what a trip! Who knows where these future trips will take me.

Tripping through life: 400 word autobiography rough draft

Hey guys I left some of the paragraphs unfinished because this is over 500 words. I need help cutting things out. And by the way, my title is like a double meaning haha. I'm not sure if anyone would get it because it not might be good, but tripping means like stumbling but also like going on trips. I thought it was creative, I might be wrong, I'm not entirely sure haha.

Tripping through Life

Moving. It’s like a trip, except it’s somewhat permanent, at least for a while. My father once promised a little boy, me, that we would never move. He lied. I’m not sure if I forgive him. Chicago sucks. It’s cold, my friends don’t live in Chicago, and it’s cold. In Chicago I am not smart enough to be in all the top classes, unlike I was Maryland. In Chicago I am not good enough to play for the school soccer team, unlike I was in Maryland. In Chicago I do not have friends to hang out with and find time to work out and speed train, unlike Maryland. In Chicago I am really fast, unlike I was in Maryland. That’s one good thing that came out of this trip.

Vacations. They’re another type of trip. Vacations became especially fun for me when I was around 13. I used to like to go on vacations and try to hook up with AMGAP, as many girls as possible. Vacations were a good way to release built up raging hormones starting from the previous vacation. I never kissed many girls at home, especially not in Chicago. I'm not sure why, but I used to ask myself all the time. "Matt, if you can get girls on vacation, what is stopping you from getting girls at home?" The only answer I could come up with was, "You’re a coward." Then I went on my last vacation, a 40-day trip through the west coast, with the intent to get with AMGAP, but then I met this girl…

Spain. For the first time ever I left the country on an intercontinental trip. This trip was a little more than a vacation, but not quite a move. I stayed with a family I’d never met for a month, the longest time away from home by a considerable margin, in the summer before my junior year. I accomplished many things in Spain. First and for most, I learned how to speak decent conversational Spanish. This helped me achieve my fist A in Spanish class and become a student teacher for my old Spanish teacher. I learned how to adjust to a culture completely foreign to my own. I tried foods I would never consider eating here in the states. I had to eat what was on my plate, which I did, a custom taken seriously in Spain. I spent the month is Spain with a boy around my age and then he came and lived in Chicago with me for a month. I spent everyday with him and not all were good, but we got through it.

West Coast Connections American Voyageur Trip 2, the best trip of my life. It was 40-day tour of the west coast with 40 awesome kids to go with, what could be better? This became my longest time away from home. I made great new friends, but also lost one. However I did meet the girl I want to marry, so it was all worth it in the end. On this trip I learned how to do laundry and cook some things.

Life. What a trip. I’ve learned a lot from my past trips, and I’ll take many more in life. Soon I’m going to college, what a trip! Who knows where these future trips will take me.

Collage Rough Draft

Matt Berusch

Collage

Creative Writing

Oetter p4

 

4:16 a.m. January 22, 1992:

            The first time I opened my eyes.

 

 

7:45 a.m. January 22, 2008, conversation with my mom as she drives me to school:

            “Mom, I just don’t know. I don’t really feel like running after school today.”

            “I don’t care Matt. You promised me you’d go. You are running!”

            “Jeez Mom! Chill, fine I’ll go, but you better make me my favorite matzo ball soup tonight.”

 

 

3:25 p.m. January 22, 2008, mood:

            Dreading 3:45.

 

 

3:45 p.m. January 22, 2008:

First day of track.

 

 

7:50 p.m. January 18, 2008, conversation with my dad after dinner:

            “You know those kids will be way faster than you.”

            “Yea, I know.”

            “Then why are you going to do it?”

            “I don’t know,” I admit, “ Who knows? Maybe I’ll get faster. It’ll also be great conditioning for soccer next year. I could try out again.” Who was I fooling? I was not about to embarrass myself in front of my club teammates again by not making the high school team.

            “But won’t you be bored practicing everyday and never competing in a real meet?”

            “Maybe, but hopefully I’ll be one of the best scrubs. I can’t be that slow.”

 

 

4:40 p.m. January 22, 2008, epiphany:

            Those kids are not faster than me.

 

 

5:15 p.m. January 22, 2008, conversation with new teammates in locker room:

            “Berusch, you got some wheels man!” They told me as I pulled my Acceleration Illinois tee shirt over my head.

            “Nah, I don’t think anyone was really trying.” I replied through the sleeve hole of my sweatshirt that I was trying to pull on.

            “Still man, I saw you win a bunch of heats,” he said fueling my ego.

 

 

10:00 a.m. July 19, 2007, thoughts as I start my 7^th super-treadmill session:

            Is this really going to make me faster?

 

I had been going at it for months. I was determined to get faster, stronger, and more agile than I was before. Everyday I went to Acceleration Illinois, a speed and strength training facility on green bay road in Winnetka. I went everyday for at least 3 hours, but normally four, a product of a move from Maryland just months before resulting in having little friends to spend time with during the summer. I went to lift, run on the super treadmill, work on plyometrics, sprint on the grass in a park close by, and even mixed martial arts. This, I told myself, was all preparation for soccer tryouts, to try to get an edge over the other guys. I even worked with the soccer trainer that Acceleration employed. However, I always knew in the back of my mind I just wasn’t good enough to make New Trier soccer team, that it just wasn’t meant to be. So what was I training for?

 

 

August 20-22, 2007, soccer tryouts:

            They did not go well. I’m not sure what went wrong, although I’ve chalked it up to exercise-induced asthma, but I couldn’t breathe throughout the whole tryout. It was rough for me, and when I was cut, although not surprised, I was still heartbroken. I had played soccer my whole life, well since I was five anyway. It was the first time I had ever been cut from a team before. And I felt betrayed, screwed over, that the tryouts were unfairly biased because I had not played freshman year. Kids who played on my travel team, which I started for, had made it, why shouldn’t I make it with them? And while I’m a little ashamed to admit, after returning home, fresh with rejection I cried. To give me some credit, I did hold it together on the car ride home while car-pooling with a kid who had made it.

           

            I was also confused. I had made my old schools JV team no problem the year previous. Why couldn’t I make it here? I felt huge resentment towards my parents. Why had they ripped me from my old home? Why had they uprooted me from my old friends? I had been comfortable in Maryland, I had great friends, been on a great school team, been on a travel team that I loved. All my anger from moving suddenly erupted like a volcano from hell. I was furious with my parents. My anger didn’t cool down for weeks. I was extremely bitter, but eventually I was ok again.

 

 

12:10 p.m. January 22, 2007, thoughts to myself while walking into 6^th period lunch on first day of school:

            Shit, who the hell am I going to sit with?

 

 

 

11:30 a.m. February 13, 2008

            My heart was pounding in my chest. I couldn’t stand still. I was pacing back and forth, back and forth. Until finally I heard the Marshall say, “Alright, all four by ones come over, I want the first runner to set his blocks, second runner go to the exchange zone, third and fourth runners go to the wall, no dillydallying!” I walked to my exchange zone, slowly taking off my sweats; I tossed them to the infield. I counted my steps and set down the tape. This was my first race; I had no idea what I was doing

            “On your marks!” I was caught off guard. I wasn’t ready!

            “Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit…” was all I could think.

            “Set!”

            “OH SHIT, OH SHIT, OH SHIT…”

            “GO!”

            “OH SHIT!!!

            Isaac launched out of the blocks, it was what I expected from our best starter. He was flying around the turn, however I couldn’t tell if he was winning or not due to the stagger. It seemed that he was doing all right. I tensed as he entered the second turn, I was waiting on the other side. Isaac was coming at me fast, turned to take off as he crossed the plane of the tape.

            “STICK!”

            I reached back to receive the baton. Wasn’t as hard as I expected it to be. We completed the exchange and I took off even faster to try to get into lane one. I ran as fast as I could around the two turns and handed it off to Winston, again easier than expected and we completed the exchange no problem. When Borris brought the baton across the finish line I was overjoyed.  I don’t remember what place we got that early Evanston meet, but that doesn’t matter. However, I do remember an overwhelming sense of belonging. I was finally on a team. I instantly became friends with the other three boys on my relay team. For the first time in this new school I felt wanted. The team needed me on this relay of the four fastest guys, and to run other races as well. I was proud to wear the blue and green of New Trier.

 

 

11:45 Everyday school day from then on:

            I sat with three track friends and some of their other friends at lunch. It was amazing how track had changed my everyday school life. Suddenly I knew all these other guys on my team that I was friends with. I started high-fiving people in the hallway, punching shoulders, and just having more people to talk to. I was on my way to being happy in this new school.

 

 

Track Banquet 2009:

            When my name for Captain was announced I was overcome with a sense of achievement, gratitude and happiness. I couldn’t believe I had come so far on this team and accomplished so much.  I had gone reluctantly and now I am ecstatic that I did. It is undoubtedly one of the greatest decisions of my life. So this brings me to my question, do I appreciate my family moving? Let’s make a pros cons list. Pro: The New Trier school district is defiantly better than Atholton’s. Con: I would have gotten better grades at my old school. Pro: My ACT score is better because I learned more in my new school district. Con: I only had one season of high school soccer. Pro: I would never had run track if I had attended Atholton High School. Pro: I would have never devoted a whole summer to working out if I had friends. Con: I had no friends for awhile in New Trier.  Pro: Now I have great friends.

           

            So after analyzing the data, I’m pretty sure I am glad we moved. I never thought I would be happy hear. My parents used to tell me that I would, but I was stubborn and wouldn’t believe them. Turns out your parents can be right after all, sometimes. 

Collage post 3

Matt Berusch

Collage

Creative Writing

Oetter p4

 

4:16 a.m. January 22, 1992:

            The first time I opened my eyes.

 

 

7:45 a.m. January 22, 2008, conversation with my mom as she drives me to school:

            “Mom, I just don’t know. I don’t really feel like running after school today.”

            “I don’t care Matt. You promised me you’d go. You are running!”

            “Jeez Mom! Chill, fine I’ll go, but you better make me my favorite matzo ball soup tonight.”

 

 

3:25 p.m. January 22, 2008, mood:

            Dreading 3:45.

 

 

3:45 p.m. January 22, 2008:

First day of track.

 

 

7:50 p.m. January 18, 2008, conversation with my dad after dinner:

            “You know those kids will be way faster than you.”

            “Yea, I know.”

            “Then why are you going to do it?”

            “I don’t know,” I admit, “ Who knows? Maybe I’ll get faster. It’ll also be great conditioning for soccer next year. I could try out again.” Who was I fooling? I was not about to embarrass myself in front of my club teammates again by not making the high school team.

            “But won’t you be bored practicing everyday and never competing in a real meet?”

            “Maybe, but hopefully I’ll be one of the best scrubs. I can’t be that slow.”

 

 

4:40 p.m. January 22, 2008, epiphany:

            Those kids are not faster than me.

 

 

5:15 p.m. January 22, 2008, conversation with new teammates in locker room:

            “Berusch, you got some wheels man!” They told me as I pulled my Acceleration Illinois tee shirt over my head.

            “Nah, I don’t think anyone was really trying.” I replied through the sleeve hole of my sweatshirt that I was trying to pull on.

            “Still man, I saw you win a bunch of heats,” he said fueling my ego.

 

 

10:00 a.m. July 19, 2007, thoughts as I start my 7^th super-treadmill session:

            Is this really going to make me faster?

 

I had been going at it for months. I was determined to get faster, stronger, and more agile than I was before. Everyday I went to Acceleration Illinois, a speed and strength training facility on green bay road in Winnetka. I went everyday for at least 3 hours, but normally four, a product of a move from Maryland just months before resulting in having little friends to spend time with during the summer. I went to lift, run on the super treadmill, work on plyometrics, sprint on the grass in a park close by, and even mixed martial arts. This, I told myself, was all preparation for soccer tryouts, to try to get an edge over the other guys. I even worked with the soccer trainer that Acceleration employed. However, I always knew in the back of my mind I just wasn’t good enough to make New Trier soccer team, that it just wasn’t meant to be. So what was I training for?

 

 

August 20-22, 2007, soccer tryouts:

            They did not go well. I’m not sure what went wrong, although I’ve chalked it up to exercise-induced asthma, but I couldn’t breathe throughout the whole tryout. It was rough for me, and when I was cut, although not surprised, I was still heartbroken. I had played soccer my whole life, well since I was five anyway. It was the first time I had ever been cut from a team before. And I felt betrayed, screwed over, that the tryouts were unfairly biased because I had not played freshman year. Kids who played on my travel team, which I started for, had made it, why shouldn’t I make it with them? And while I’m a little ashamed to admit, after returning home, fresh with rejection I cried. To give me some credit, I did hold it together on the car ride home while car-pooling with a kid who had made it.

           

            I was also confused. I had made my old schools JV team no problem the year previous. Why couldn’t I make it here? I felt huge resentment towards my parents. Why had they ripped me from my old home? Why had they uprooted me from my old friends? I had been comfortable in Maryland, I had great friends, been on a great school team, been on a travel team that I loved. All my anger from moving suddenly erupted like a volcano from hell. I was furious with my parents. My anger didn’t cool down for weeks. I was extremely bitter, but eventually I was ok again.

 

 

12:10 p.m. January 22, 2007, thoughts to myself while walking into 6^th period lunch on first day of school:

            Shit, who the hell am I going to sit with?

 

 

 

11:30 a.m. February 13, 2008

            My heart was pounding in my chest. I couldn’t stand still. I was pacing back and forth, back and forth. Until finally I heard the Marshall say, “Alright, all four by ones come over, I want the first runner to set his blocks, second runner go to the exchange zone, third and fourth runners go to the wall, no dillydallying!” I walked to my exchange zone, slowly taking off my sweats; I tossed them to the infield. I counted my steps and set down the tape. This was my first race; I had no idea what I was doing

            “On your marks!” I was caught off guard. I wasn’t ready!

            “Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit…” was all I could think.

            “Set!”

            “OH SHIT, OH SHIT, OH SHIT…”

            “GO!”

            “OH SHIT!!!

            Isaac launched out of the blocks, it was what I expected from our best starter. He was flying around the turn, however I couldn’t tell if he was winning or not due to the stagger. It seemed that he was doing all right. I tensed as he entered the second turn, I was waiting on the other side. Isaac was coming at me fast, turned to take off as he crossed the plane of the tape.

            “STICK!”

            I reached back to receive the baton. Wasn’t as hard as I expected it to be. We completed the exchange and I took off even faster to try to get into lane one. I ran as fast as I could around the two turns and handed it off to Winston, again easier than expected and we completed the exchange no problem. When Borris brought the baton across the finish line I was overjoyed.  I don’t remember what place we got that early Evanston meet, but that doesn’t matter. However, I do remember an overwhelming sense of belonging. I was finally on a team. I instantly became friends with the other three boys on my relay team. For the first time in this new school I felt wanted. The team needed me on this relay of the four fastest guys, and to run other races as well. I was proud to wear the blue and green of New Trier.

 

 

11:45 Everyday school day from then on:

            I sat with three track friends and some of their other friends at lunch. It was amazing how track had changed my everyday school life. Suddenly I knew all these other guys on my team that I was friends with. I started high-fiving people in the hallway, punching shoulders, and just having more people to talk to. I was on my way to being happy in this new school.

 

I'm not really sure how to end it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Collage Post 2

Sorry this is kinda late guys, but my sister fractured my skull and my dads out of town so I've been dealing with that and didn't have a great chance to post. This is the first 2 pages, I'll try to get the full rough draft up tonight, but don't feel obligated to comment. 

Matt Berusch

Collage

Creative Writing

Oetter p4

 

4:16 a.m. January 22, 1992:

            The first time I opened my eyes.

 

 

7:45 a.m. January 22, 2008, conversation with my mom as she drives me to school:

            “Mom, I just don’t know. I don’t really feel like running after school today.”

            “I don’t care Matt. You promised me you’d go. You are running!”

            “Jeez Mom! Chill, fine I’ll go, but you better make me my favorite matzo ball soup tonight.”

 

 

3:25 p.m. January 22, 2008, mood:

            Dreading 3:45.

 

 

3:45 p.m. January 22, 2008:

First day of track.

 

 

7:50 p.m. January 18, 2008, conversation with my dad after dinner:

            “You know those kids will be way faster than you.”

            “Yea, I know.”

            “Then why are you going to do it?”

            “I don’t know,” I admit, “ Who knows? Maybe I’ll get faster. It’ll also be great conditioning for soccer next year. I could try out again.” Who was I fooling? I was not about to embarrass myself in front of my club teammates again by not making the high school team.

            “But won’t you be bored practicing everyday and never competing in a real meet?”

            “Maybe, but hopefully I’ll be one of the best scrubs. I can’t be that slow.”

 

 

4:40 p.m. January 22, 2008, epiphany:

            Those kids are not faster than me.

 

 

5:15 p.m. January 22, 2008, conversation with new teammates in locker room:

            “Berusch, you got some wheels man!” They told me as I pulled my Acceleration Illinois tee shirt over my head.

            “Nah, I don’t think anyone was really trying.” I replied through the sleeve hole of my sweatshirt that I was trying to pull on.

            “Still man, I saw you win a bunch of heats,” he said fueling my ego.

 

 

10:00 a.m. July 19, 2007, thoughts as I start my 7^th super-treadmill session:

            Is this really going to make me faster?

 

I had been going at it for months. I was determined to get faster, stronger, and more agile than I was before. Everyday I went to Acceleration Illinois, a speed and strength training facility on green bay road in Winnetka. I went everyday for at least 3 hours, but normally four, a product of a move from Maryland just months before resulting in having little friends to spend time with during the summer. I went to lift, run on the super treadmill, work on plyometrics, sprint on the grass in a park close by, and even mixed martial arts. This, I told myself, was all preparation for soccer tryouts, to try to get an edge over the other guys. I even worked with the soccer trainer that Acceleration employed. However, I always knew in the back of my mind I just wasn’t good enough to make New Trier soccer team, that it just wasn’t meant to be. So what was I training for?

 

 

August 20-22, 2007, soccer tryouts:

            They did not go well. I’m not sure what went wrong, although I’ve chalked it up to exercise-induced asthma, but I couldn’t breathe throughout the whole tryout. It was rough for me, and when I was cut, although not surprised, I was still heartbroken. I had played soccer my whole life, well since I was five anyway. It was the first time I had ever been cut from a team before. And I felt betrayed, screwed over, that the tryouts were unfairly biased because I had not played freshman year. Kids who played on my travel team, which I started for, had made it, why shouldn’t I make it with them? And while I’m a little ashamed to admit, after returning home, fresh with rejection I cried. To give me some credit, I did hold it together on the car ride home while car-pooling with a kid who had made it.

           

            I was also confused. I had made my old schools JV team no problem the year previous. Why couldn’t I make it here? I felt huge resentment towards my parents. Why had they ripped me from my old home? Why had they uprooted me from my old friends? I had been comfortable in Maryland, I had great friends, been on a great school team, been on a travel team that I loved. All my anger from moving suddenly erupted like a volcano from hell. I was furious with my parents. My anger didn’t cool down for weeks. I was extremely bitter, but eventually I was ok again.

I think my question is whether or not I'm grateful for the move.

Collage

Matt Berusch

Collage

Creative Writing

Oetter p4

 

4:16 a.m. January 22, 1992:

            The first time I opened my eyes.

 

 

7:45 a.m. January 22, 2008, conversation with my mom as she drives me to school:

            “Mom, I just don’t know. I don’t really feel like running after school today.”

            “I don’t care Matt. You promised me you’d go. You are running!”

            “Jeez Mom! Chill, fine I’ll go, but you better make me my favorite matzo ball soup tonight.”

 

 

3:25 p.m. January 22, 2008, mood:

            Dreading 3:45.

 

 

3:45 p.m. January 22, 2008:

First day of track.

 

 

7:50 p.m. January 18, 2008, conversation with my dad after dinner:

            “You know those kids will be way faster than you.”

            “Yea, I know.”

            “Then why are you going to do it?”

            “I don’t know,” I admit, “ Who knows? Maybe I’ll get faster. It’ll also be great conditioning for soccer next year. I could try out again.” Who was I fooling? I was not about to embarrass myself in front of my club teammates again by not making the high school team.

            “But won’t you be bored practicing everyday and never competing in a real meet?”

            “Maybe, but hopefully I’ll be one of the best scrubs. I can’t be that slow.”

 

 

4:40 p.m. January 22, 2008, epiphany:

            Those kids are not faster than me.

 

 

5:15 p.m. January 22, 2008, conversation with new teammates in locker room:

            “Berusch, you got some wheels man!”

            “Nah, I don’t think anyone was really trying.”

            “Still man, I saw you win a bunch of heats.”