I used to keep a paper journal. Sometimes I still write in it, but rarely. More often, when I have a thought that I want to record, I post it on this blog. It always turns out more generic, but I'm really okay with that. My fingers flying across the keyboard are more accurate than a pen on paper. It's really skipping a step for me; the words appear on the screen as I'm thinking them, whereas when I'm writing there's a mental gap, a bridge that I have to cross to make the words appear. There's more of a stream-of-consciousness effect with a keyboard. Plus there's the added bonus of being able to backspace, to erase mistakes, to word my thoughts with precision.
I've kept a paper journal since I was in kindergarten. That's over fifteen years of my life, recorded on paper. I'm currently in the process of archiving the past six years of my life, transferring the blog posts from the internet to a word processing document, so I can print them and have a copy on paper that somewhat matches the medium of tradition for me. I don't even know why I'm writing this now, except for the fact that it seems important and posting it to my blog is easier, more convenient than pulling out my notebook, finding a pen, turning on a light, and taking the time to write it all down. It's kind of sad that this is how it's turned out; from real writing to just typing my thoughts onto a screen, no medium, no thought process behind it. Just moving my fingers as my mind sees fit. There isn't even a connection between the two. My mind has a thought and my fingers express it. It's weird, you know?
I think it's representative of where society is going. We've become a people that facilitates the notion of "think before you speak;" actions come before thoughts, and the consequences are ignored almost entirely.
Tonight I was at a bar in my hometown and it was so surreal; I saw the most random collection of people from my past. And as I was leaving, I saw this guy I knew and this girl I didn't (though I think she was a friend of a friend) all over each other in a semi-private corner outside. And it just exemplifies what we've become; think first, act next, deal with it later. Will either of them remember what happened at 1:15 am? Will either of them care?
I don't really know where I'm going with this post. I'm a bit drunk and I'm just letting my fingers do the talking. How uncommon is that?
12.19.2008
12.18.2008
Dreaming and pretending
Lately I've been having these weird baby dreams. I'll be pregnant, or a new mom. I never really know who the dad is, or even if there IS a father, but that never seems to matter. Then something weird happens. One time, the baby started talking...like an adult. Another time, someone stole the baby from me.
I'm big on dream analysis. Not in the psycho-babble way, but in a subconscious revelation way. My mother thinks that it's because I'm coming to terms with my new responsibilities as an adult. I am more inclined to think that it's a manifestation of the age-old cliche: the ticking of the female biological clock.
If my boyfriend happens to read this, I want to make it perfectly clear: I DO NOT WANT A BABY RIGHT NOW.
That being said, I am really just becoming more aware of my own mortality than ever before in my life. Think about it...when my mother was my age, she was engaged. When my grandmother was my age, she was already married. Granted, society has pushed back the average age of marriage; being 23 and unattached is the new norm. And I certainly have no desire to rush into any lifelong commitments, be they child or marriage. I can't even decide on a major/minor combination, for God's sake.
But the fact is, I am starting to complete those items on my to-do list for life.
Graduate high school: check
Go to college: check
Move out: check
Find a career: not yet
Get married: not yet
Have a family: not yet
Yes, this is basic. But it's still half-finished. How weird is that?
Sometimes I feel like I'm just a little kid, playing pretend. Other times, I think that I'm not playing anymore.
I'm big on dream analysis. Not in the psycho-babble way, but in a subconscious revelation way. My mother thinks that it's because I'm coming to terms with my new responsibilities as an adult. I am more inclined to think that it's a manifestation of the age-old cliche: the ticking of the female biological clock.
If my boyfriend happens to read this, I want to make it perfectly clear: I DO NOT WANT A BABY RIGHT NOW.
That being said, I am really just becoming more aware of my own mortality than ever before in my life. Think about it...when my mother was my age, she was engaged. When my grandmother was my age, she was already married. Granted, society has pushed back the average age of marriage; being 23 and unattached is the new norm. And I certainly have no desire to rush into any lifelong commitments, be they child or marriage. I can't even decide on a major/minor combination, for God's sake.
But the fact is, I am starting to complete those items on my to-do list for life.
Graduate high school: check
Go to college: check
Move out: check
Find a career: not yet
Get married: not yet
Have a family: not yet
Yes, this is basic. But it's still half-finished. How weird is that?
Sometimes I feel like I'm just a little kid, playing pretend. Other times, I think that I'm not playing anymore.
12.14.2008
Hey. Could we do that again? I know we haven't met, but I don't want to be an ant, you know? I mean, it's like we go through life with our antennas bouncing off one another, continuously on ant autopilot, with nothing really human required of us. Stop. Go. Walk here. Drive there. All action basically for survival. All communication simply to keep this ant colony buzzing along in an efficient, polite manner. "Here's your change." "Paper or plastic?' "Credit or debit?" "You want ketchup with that?" I don't want a straw. I want real human moments. I want to see you. I want you to see me. I don't want to give that up. I don't want to be ant, you know?
I've been having a terrible time at work lately. Not because it's particularly difficult, but because it's mind-numbingly easy. There's nothing more depressing or frustrating than working retail during the holiday season. I'm an ant.
The other day, I was getting ready to go home, when one last customer walked up to my register. I started to say hello, but she cut me off, pointing at her ears and saying that she's deaf. I smiled and rang her out. As she's getting ready to leave, I tell her "have a good night" in sign language. And the woman flips out on me. She's so excited, she's stammering and fluttering her hands.
"It's easy, it's easy!" she exclaimed, "Drive...read..." Each word is punctuated by the sign. "Keep learning!" she said as she waved goodbye.
For a moment, I stopped being an ant. Unfortunately, those moments are few and far between. Everyone is conditioned to be ants, not just me.
On an unrelated note, I lost my story. I've been working on a short story for a few months now. I finally started typing up the first final draft, and was on a roll. Really, it was brilliant. And most of it was fresh, not written down at all. And I, idiot that I am, didn't save it. So when my computer died today, and closed down all my applications, my work was gone. Auto-recover did nothing. I don't remember a word of it. It was just stream-of-consciousness writing.
I tend to live with the thought that everything happens for a reason. Am I going to write something better? Or is the lost version as good as it's going to get, and gone forever?
I've been having a terrible time at work lately. Not because it's particularly difficult, but because it's mind-numbingly easy. There's nothing more depressing or frustrating than working retail during the holiday season. I'm an ant.
The other day, I was getting ready to go home, when one last customer walked up to my register. I started to say hello, but she cut me off, pointing at her ears and saying that she's deaf. I smiled and rang her out. As she's getting ready to leave, I tell her "have a good night" in sign language. And the woman flips out on me. She's so excited, she's stammering and fluttering her hands.
"It's easy, it's easy!" she exclaimed, "Drive...read..." Each word is punctuated by the sign. "Keep learning!" she said as she waved goodbye.
For a moment, I stopped being an ant. Unfortunately, those moments are few and far between. Everyone is conditioned to be ants, not just me.
On an unrelated note, I lost my story. I've been working on a short story for a few months now. I finally started typing up the first final draft, and was on a roll. Really, it was brilliant. And most of it was fresh, not written down at all. And I, idiot that I am, didn't save it. So when my computer died today, and closed down all my applications, my work was gone. Auto-recover did nothing. I don't remember a word of it. It was just stream-of-consciousness writing.
I tend to live with the thought that everything happens for a reason. Am I going to write something better? Or is the lost version as good as it's going to get, and gone forever?
12.02.2008
A discussion with my sister
On lifestyles, mine in particular:
"Do you want to experience everything in your life?"
"Yes," I hesitated, thinking the question over in my mind. It's a bad habit of mine; leaping into action before considering the consequences. I was always been a girl of immediacy, instantaneous response. Answer or act first, think later.
"Well, no. I'd like to experience most things. There are some things I think I'd be better off without." I suppose what I meant is that I want to experience the good. I've felt the heartbreaking, the devastating. I don't want to do that again. I know I will; such loss is inevitable in a moral world. But I don't desire it; I desire the new, the thrilling, the exhilarating, the challenging.
"I don't! I don't want to sit there at the end of my life knowing that I've done everything there is to do! I don't want to be left with nothing left to do!" I stared in disbelief at her. When my life is almost over, I want to be able to reminisce about how great it was, not regret all that I didn't do.
We argued about it for a while and were unable to come to an agreement. So I'm posing the question to you, my readers.
Which would you prefer...
sitting at the end of your life, doing nothing but remembering the excitement you've had, or,
sitting at the end of your life, thinking about what you haven't done and the possibility of your still doing it?
Please respond.
"Do you want to experience everything in your life?"
"Yes," I hesitated, thinking the question over in my mind. It's a bad habit of mine; leaping into action before considering the consequences. I was always been a girl of immediacy, instantaneous response. Answer or act first, think later.
"Well, no. I'd like to experience most things. There are some things I think I'd be better off without." I suppose what I meant is that I want to experience the good. I've felt the heartbreaking, the devastating. I don't want to do that again. I know I will; such loss is inevitable in a moral world. But I don't desire it; I desire the new, the thrilling, the exhilarating, the challenging.
"I don't! I don't want to sit there at the end of my life knowing that I've done everything there is to do! I don't want to be left with nothing left to do!" I stared in disbelief at her. When my life is almost over, I want to be able to reminisce about how great it was, not regret all that I didn't do.
We argued about it for a while and were unable to come to an agreement. So I'm posing the question to you, my readers.
Which would you prefer...
sitting at the end of your life, doing nothing but remembering the excitement you've had, or,
sitting at the end of your life, thinking about what you haven't done and the possibility of your still doing it?
Please respond.
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