(This one's for Larissa, ever my dear sister, and she knows why.)
The time has come once again to blog. Though my times on The Pumpkin Patch are few and far between these days, I think of it often. I just never know what to write.
But that's no excuse.
Because I never know what to write ever.
Even with the most detailed planning and plot lining and scheming and brainstorming. I never really know what to write until I write it. Lines and phrases come to mind throughout the day (in the most inopportune times of course) and they usually start me on some poem or lyrics or random jotting. Only after words come stumbling out of my mouth or pen like drunkards from a bar do I really know what I'll write.
And so today I write confessions, though they are more like revelations than anything.
First and foremost, I am very afraid. It isn't easy to admit, but I believe it to be true. I state this to begin with because I feel that this first point is tied to the things to come.
Second, I am infected with an overactive mind. Just typing that sentence sent my mind off somewhere else for a few minutes. I feel undisciplined, out of control, and thus less a person. Which leads to the next thing.
Third, low self esteem. I think this is related to the first point. Low esteem leads me to fear what others think, which is made worse by the second point. Vicious cycle, you see? Now I'm worrying that I've said these things with different words in previous blog posts. Probably.
The fourth point hit me like a bear's claw this past week. I feel like I'm better/superior than other people. WHAT THE HELL, I thought to myself. Alex hinted at this to me one time I think, but the reality didn't occur to me. This was especially confusing to me because of the third point. I keep trying to figure these things out and how everything is connected, but it tires me out and confuses me. So I'll take it to my therapist. Moving on...
Now stuff might get a bit random, but they are revelations/confessions nonetheless.
Fifth, I might just become an English professor. I don't talk to the Eternal Tenant in the sky enough, but He still whispers to me. Though it isn't what I want to do with the rest of my life, it's a start. They say that when you set out to be a writer, you have to prepare yourself to be poor. I'd agree with this, so I gotta find something I can make steady money with while I pursue my real career. Plus, as Mike Mennard told Addison's class awhile back... being a college professor is one of the easiest things ever. Unless you hate doing it, I suppose, but I don't think I will. I continue to learn to be prepared, organized, and motivated and hopefully will have a better handle on things by the time career time rolls around.
Sixth, I'm pretty sure I could wear plaid shirts every single day. Most of us have some kind of clothing or style that we feel most comfortable in. Some girls like really tight clothing and I give them my silent approval (heh heh). Some guys like sporting sportswear on a daily basis. But that isn't for me. For those that know me and see me on a regular basis, my clothing style of choice is....(on the count of three)...... PLAID. It's true. Plaid/flannel type shirts really excite me. I'm currently wearing one of my most favorite shirts that my dear mother got me for Christmas. Seriously, if I had my druthers, I'd find a ton of amazing long sleeved, button up, collared, moody plaid shirts and wear a new one every day. Of course it has to be unbuttoned a little at the top to reveal my white undershirt. And then the look is completed with darkish-blue or black jeans and Converse or some other shoe type.
Seventh, I prefer having coffee in sealed to-go containers rather than a mug even when sitting in a coffee shop. Maybe it's weird, but dammit, it stays warmer longer and I like to drink slowly sometimes. Especially in the Mill (whose coffee I'm no longer sure if I like anymore) where you have to pay for refills. But here at Braeda, it's free refills, so drinking from a mug doesn't bother me as much. ALSO, Braeda might be my new haven. In addition to their good coffee with free refills and decent environment, I think I run less a chance of seeing people I know here. I dunno about everyone else, but I need a place I can go and just not be around people I know. I need strangers. I need just enough familiarity, but not too much. These are the places I like to write. In the Mill and StarBucks, I can hardly ever go there without seeing a Union face. My usual haunts are now haunted. This leads into the next thing.
Eighth, I'm increasingly anti-social. There's a certain serendipity in solitude. Seriously. Some people can't be alone or in silence. I still don't do well with pure quiet (I love my music), but the lone-wolf status is routinely appealing. There are days I can't handle with being around people and dealing with their idiosyncrasies: the things that I love and hate about them. There are also days I'm invigorated and inspired by being with friends and company is welcome. And still other days, I'm torn between loneliness and reclusiveness. Can't be with people, can't be without them. So I sleep.
Well here they are, the ponderings, confessions, revelations, whatever you wish to call them. Regardless, I've taken up empty space on a page and accomplished something, even if it is just giving you a better idea of who I am. Words have flowed and that is important. So I shall leave you with a semi-relevant haiku I've been working on. I hope you've enjoyed the 100th post. Take care, pumpkins.
Blank empty pages
A youthful life unwritten
Troubling, the unknown