My Favorite Kind of Vague :: Personal Narrative Jealousy Envy Essays

My Favorite Kind of Vague When dreams mix with realities it’s 2 o’clock on a Sunday morning, and no one is awake but you, scribbling on a notebook pad behind the bathroom door, trying to grasp how something so mild, how heartwarming, could be converted by its counterpart. I read this book last summer, it was required reading, everyone told me it was horrible. The book takes place in the south at this boy’s boarding school called Devon during the summer session, in it Gene, this guy with a terrible sense of self and an even worse self-esteem, engages in a codependent relationship with the magnificent athlete Phineas. Everyone loves Finny, he’s charming, he’s naive, he’s everything Gene isn’t. So anyway, Gene is jealous of Phineas, although they’re best friends, so he develops this concept of Finny being jealous of him, justifying the hatred he develops for him. It becomes apparent that Phineas isn’t at all jealous; Gene’s, consumed with envy, and pushes Finny out of the tree they used to jump out of together, essentially killing his best friend. It’s strange how literary life parallels life so perfectly sometimes. But it really is a good book, I recommend it. But who am â€Å"I†? Well, allow me to introduce myself. I’m Beth. Some may accuse me of being antisocial, but I’m not. I mean, sure, I get calls all the time, but they’re for homework help and advice on weak poetry. It’s not that I mind it; it’s just that I don’t exactly enjoy it. When I was in seventh grade, I cracked a book open at my father’s library, you should probably know he’s a librarian. It was called â€Å"Popularity in 100 steps.† I remember a few guidelines from it â€Å"Be nice to others,† that means listening to them, and giving good advice another was â€Å"Try not to be pessimistic,† another â€Å"Use your fashion sense† and then the big 100 was â€Å"Be yourself.† Well, I’d been being myself for 16 godforsaken years, and it was time for a change. I met her in a hallway, at the time squirming at her singing, her faà §ade of giddiness. She could have authored the awe-inspiring â€Å"Popularity in 100 steps,† her life was based around its rules. She was happy then, happier than she’s ever been since, we hadn’t exchanged words, yet, I was just a nametag, and she was just the ringmaster of a group of 30 boys.