The presentation day came, Mrs. Zoake randomly selected five children per day to present their speeches. My friend and I were sitting in the back of the class, just praying that we wouldn't be chosen to present that day. We called it “dodging a bullet” every time a name other than ours was mentioned. I guess we somehow linked giving a speech to being hit by a bullet. It's a bit extreme, but how can you enjoy preparing for a mission you hate doing? These previous negative experiences with public speaking are linked to my current hatred of writing. Then come extended book reports, journal entries, and resumes with endless revisions. I don't even want to talk about reading, just another task that requires a person to sit and do nothing for long periods of time. This is definitely not something I would particularly like. After reading the book, I should then write a report. That’s double the pain in the ass! It's quite strange actually, because I vividly remember loving the first book I ever read. My seventh grade teacher, Miss Bedic, gave us a book report assignment. We had the privilege of being able to choose the book we wanted to read. So of course I chose to treat my Patus