Wow, so this is awkward.
As usual, I do something for short period of time, then totally bail. Well now it's time to dust off my keyboard and try to actually commit to something. I joined a writing club at school, so I WILL be posting hopefully once every week or two. At least that's what I'm telling myself.
I am also thinking of doing nanowrimo, so if I end up following through there will be radio silence for November, but there has been radio silence for a solid year, so I think that all you non-existent readers can handle it.
LET"S DO THIS.
Monday, September 30, 2013
Sunday, March 10, 2013
Home alone
I really love being home alone. My dad is away and my mom had to be at work on Friday, and I had a snow day, so I had the house to myself.
I know it's super cliche, but really love dancing around and playing music super loud when no one is around. I have a distinct memory of me as a 7th grader being home alone for an afternoon, and me blasting the killers while dancing in my white girl way in the living room.
I spent the day pretty much reading and dancing around. And I loved it. Especially because the next few weeks are going to be full of performances and exciting things like going to NYC with the music program at my school, and going to a Frightened Rabbit concert.
There are pretty much two different types of perfect days for me. Which totally contradicts the idea of perfection but no one actually means perfect when they say perfect unless in special cases. I will stop rambling now.
One type is a day out with my friends doing something exciting and different. But the other type is spending the day alone, in my house, reading or catching up on a tv show or something.
I value social time, but at the same time I really need days to myself. And Friday was one of those perfect days.
I know it's super cliche, but really love dancing around and playing music super loud when no one is around. I have a distinct memory of me as a 7th grader being home alone for an afternoon, and me blasting the killers while dancing in my white girl way in the living room.
I spent the day pretty much reading and dancing around. And I loved it. Especially because the next few weeks are going to be full of performances and exciting things like going to NYC with the music program at my school, and going to a Frightened Rabbit concert.
There are pretty much two different types of perfect days for me. Which totally contradicts the idea of perfection but no one actually means perfect when they say perfect unless in special cases. I will stop rambling now.
One type is a day out with my friends doing something exciting and different. But the other type is spending the day alone, in my house, reading or catching up on a tv show or something.
I value social time, but at the same time I really need days to myself. And Friday was one of those perfect days.
Saturday, February 9, 2013
Snowy Day
Nemo came, and blanketed my entire town with a heavy layer of white stuff. The streets are pretty much empty, and a lot of sidewalks are still covered in a two foot layer of snow.
Ah, snow. I don't exactly know why I love it so much. Maybe because it is beautiful, the flakes, and the effect it has on the world. One day, the streets are busy, and it is all just a mess of concrete and cars and people surging through the streets, intent on getting somewhere, anywhere. The next, everything is simply just white, pure, and beautiful. The streets seem lonely, but that's just because the people are stuck in their homes, warming themselves with blankets, hot chocolate, and a book or computer or a game of scrabble with their family. And when you finally venture outside, and you are blinded by the whiteness, and you feel the gusts blowing the flakes against your face, and your cheeks are becoming rosy red, and you feel alive. You breathe in and the cold air whistles through your lungs, and then you breathe out, and you are a dragon.
Maybe it's the fact that it stops the world for a second. It gives you a break, a reason to stay home and in your pjs and take a day to yourself.
Maybe it's the world of entertainment it opens up. Sledding, snowball fights, sculptures, and half-finished igloos that take all afternoon. Making a snow angel, getting soaked to the bone, and the satisfaction of going inside again, stripping off your clothes, and taking that steaming hot shower you waited so long for.
Maybe it's the delicate balance between solid and liquid.
Maybe.
All I know is that I love this snow.
Ah, snow. I don't exactly know why I love it so much. Maybe because it is beautiful, the flakes, and the effect it has on the world. One day, the streets are busy, and it is all just a mess of concrete and cars and people surging through the streets, intent on getting somewhere, anywhere. The next, everything is simply just white, pure, and beautiful. The streets seem lonely, but that's just because the people are stuck in their homes, warming themselves with blankets, hot chocolate, and a book or computer or a game of scrabble with their family. And when you finally venture outside, and you are blinded by the whiteness, and you feel the gusts blowing the flakes against your face, and your cheeks are becoming rosy red, and you feel alive. You breathe in and the cold air whistles through your lungs, and then you breathe out, and you are a dragon.
Maybe it's the fact that it stops the world for a second. It gives you a break, a reason to stay home and in your pjs and take a day to yourself.
Maybe it's the world of entertainment it opens up. Sledding, snowball fights, sculptures, and half-finished igloos that take all afternoon. Making a snow angel, getting soaked to the bone, and the satisfaction of going inside again, stripping off your clothes, and taking that steaming hot shower you waited so long for.
Maybe it's the delicate balance between solid and liquid.
Maybe.
All I know is that I love this snow.
Sunday, January 27, 2013
Staying young
I think I may be inadvertently trying to avoid growing up. I had these plans you see. To get my driver's permit on my birthday, to get a summer job... But my mind is rejecting them, by not allowing to just sit down and read the manual, and trying to preventme from even addressing a letter to one of my references. It took me two weeks to print out the application and complete, and another to send it, and I still need to to mail the reference sheet to one of my references.
I feel completely out of control about it. I know it is part procrastination, but I think I also just don't want to enter the real world. My mind really wants to read and address, to make money and to finally not have to rely on my parents for rides, but it is having a lot of trouble with the middle part.
I feel completely out of control about it. I know it is part procrastination, but I think I also just don't want to enter the real world. My mind really wants to read and address, to make money and to finally not have to rely on my parents for rides, but it is having a lot of trouble with the middle part.
Sunday, January 20, 2013
The Sober Friend
We are staggering around Boston, pretty much aimlessly. Two are making out at every possible opportunity. Two are flirting, and they like each other, but she has a boyfriend. One is screaming her secret at the top of her lungs, floating along, happy to lose herself. One is walking by himself for the most part, not drinking but only because of wrestling. And I am the sober friend.
Drunk off of vodka and mountain dew, people are saying things they wouldn't, then subsequently begging the others not to remember it in the morning. They are laughing and crying and begging me to let them have more, though they already had too much.
I should have brought my gloves, for my fingers are freezing as I am texting her mom from her phone since she sounds drunk, and doesn't want her to know.
I apologize to the passerby for the loudness of the group.
I wonder if maybe this night would have been more fun if I had some of the mountain dew. I realize I know for sure that's probably the case.
But I'm scared of not being the sober friend. I'm scared of saying things I don't want to. I'm scared of not being in control. I'm scared for my friends without someone to watch out. I'm scared I'll like it too much.
So I'm the sober friend, and probably always will be.
I contemplate this on the bus, as everyone is coming to their senses, as I worry about getting home on time, worry about worrying too much, worry about what people said when their brain didn't produce the filter it usually did.
Drunk off of vodka and mountain dew, people are saying things they wouldn't, then subsequently begging the others not to remember it in the morning. They are laughing and crying and begging me to let them have more, though they already had too much.
I should have brought my gloves, for my fingers are freezing as I am texting her mom from her phone since she sounds drunk, and doesn't want her to know.
I apologize to the passerby for the loudness of the group.
I wonder if maybe this night would have been more fun if I had some of the mountain dew. I realize I know for sure that's probably the case.
But I'm scared of not being the sober friend. I'm scared of saying things I don't want to. I'm scared of not being in control. I'm scared for my friends without someone to watch out. I'm scared I'll like it too much.
So I'm the sober friend, and probably always will be.
I contemplate this on the bus, as everyone is coming to their senses, as I worry about getting home on time, worry about worrying too much, worry about what people said when their brain didn't produce the filter it usually did.
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