Holden project.pdf - Sreejith 1 Sneha Sreejith Ms....

Sreejith 1
Sneha Sreejith
Ms. Bergamotto and Ms. Peralta
Academic English II
10 April 2018
Holden’s Journal Entries
Day 1:
Dear Journal,
They gave me a journal and told me to write in it everyday. You know, about my day and my
thoughts and stuff like that. By “they” I mean the hot-shot doctor who is treating me in here and his
nurse sidekicks. I know I’m sick, but I ought to tell you, these morons in here are going to be the
reason I don’t make it out of here. Anyway, they want me to keep writing about my feelings but “that
stuff bores me” (Salinger 3). I’m doing a helluva good job listening to them though, because I know
the faster they think I’m getting better, the faster I can get the hell out of here and go back to Phoebe
and maybe even Pencey Prep. At this point any place is better than here.
This place is kind of like those hospitals you see in the movies where everything is clean as if
there was never a dying person in here. It seems too phony to be true. Anyway, the doctors are all
pretty boys with an ego complex, but there are some cute nurses here. The nurse that comes in to give
me food everyday is pretty. I’m not going to “horse around with her at all” though, because I don’t
really like her (Salinger 81). Plus, if I play my cards right, I’ll be out of here soon.
Anyway, I better go now because the doctor’s coming in here soon for my session. I have to
keep pretending like I care about this place, as if I’m some sort of phony idiot now. That reminds me
of Pencey. I mean it’s befitting I think of that phony school right now. It’s not like Pencey is any kind
of “ paradise or anything” but definitely better than any crazy hospital (Salinger 71).

Sreejith 2
Tonight’s message to the world: “Sleep tight, ya morons!” (Salinger 68).
Day 2:
Dear Journal,
I forgot to mention yesterday that they let me bring my red hunting cap here, and they even
made my dad go and get Allie’s baseball mitt for me. I was reading some of the poetry on it again last
night. The doctor asked if there was anything that helped me think and connect with my feelings and
mushy stuff like that, and so I said Allie’s mitt. As for the red hunting cap, I just refused to take it off
because “I liked it that way” and “I looked good in it that way”, but they probably thought I had some
deep psychological connection to it so they let me keep it (Salinger 24).
So I started thinking around lunch time about why I’m actually in here. I get a ton of free of
time in here since they think I’m unstable or something. When I was staring up at the boring white
ceiling over my bed today, it reminded me of the dusty white walls of my garage. The one that “I
slept in… the night he died” (Salinger 50). I used to believe in God and all the phony lies they told us
in church. But that night my eyes opened up. How could there even be a God who takes away the life
of an innocent little kid? What about all the spoiled phonies who only care about themselves and their