So, France is actually unlike Buenos Aires in a number of ways. For instance, the EU has actual visa regulations that make it rather difficult for an upper middle class white girl with little or really no teaching experience to obtain a permanent work visa. I was told though that I could work under the table. Oh really? Because that's so reassuring. Thats got sex trade written all over it as far as I'm concerned. I then considered Poland. Surely, good ole Poland would be a bit more relaxed than France. Negative. Apparently the majority of countries that don't offer a side of parasite with their water require extensive documentation to reside in their borders for more than 3 months. Who knew?
But, don't you worry. See I can say little comments like this because I just got my first official blog follower!!! Yep, the people want me. They want to hear more.
To keep you updated, I am currently drinking red wine and listening to the Moulin Rougue soundtrack and hassling other work people to go out with me so that I'm not alone with red wine and Mrs. Rougue. It is a movie based in France though so basically, I'm French and basically, I will no longer be inhibited by paranoid visa laws. Seriously though, France, could you be anymore xenophobic? I merely wish to inundate your up and coming youth with American culture and value systems/marry one of your fallen royalty. One of the two.
So, to go along with the whole depressing metaphysical thang of my past blogs, let's discuss this recent text I received.
First, though, some background. His name is Rick Powers. Yep, no joke, true name.
Stats.
Coloring: Brunette.
Height: 6'1'' (maybe)
Occupation: Theatre.
Interests: Cigarets. Women.
Overall character: Funny kid who makes great little sharpie cartoons, yet is still strangely charming in a sophisticated sort of way.
And he thinks people don't understand him. I just nailed him to a tee.
Anyway, here is the text dialogue. Oh wait, more important background information. I may or may not have been strangely in love with him in a sophisticated way during my freshman year of college. So naturally, our current relationship now involves random drunk texts that usually occur at three month intervals.
(November 25th, 2010 2:21am)
Kelsea: Your weird, but in a good way...and not just in a like oh your a dude but more in a like oh your wierd and intense and I like you as just a person...no clue if that makes sense but yep, true statement.
I like ellispses when I'm drunk...
(November 29th, 2010 1:46am)
Mr. Powers: Hey, I'm drunk.
Kelsea: wakes up at 2:00am, but gives no response to a text so lacking in all possible creative capacities
Kelsea: Ps drunk texts from me say things like I've figured out the universe or let's listen to spring awakening or hey Rick I think your an awesome person...so, you sir need to step up your game if you expect a response.
[I apparently like to quote myself in all of my texts as if I were actually speaking to him]
Rick: no response to a text lacking a necessary response
Rick: So I figured out why everyone is unhappy. I win. Ha!
[it's hard to tell here if Rick's "I win. Ha!" is an exclamation to the universe as a whole or an in-yo-face to me and my desire for more interesting and controversial texts]
Kelsea: Ah and why is everyone so unhappy?
Rick: Because everyone wants someone to have the answers for them but everyone always has a question that they don't have an answer for...i think that's the best way to expain it
Kelsea: So what is your question that makes you unhappy and know one can answer for you?
[I've left in all typos for validity's sake]
Rick: Can you ever really understand another person and ore importantly can anyone understand you?
Kelsea: Isn't that kinda what you are supposed to be looking for? Someone who is just like you or at least on the same level of thinking and values and humor too?
Rick: I agree but its impossible to know if someone really understands you. We'll discuss this when I move back because texting does not enable the necessary discussion level
Kelsea: Ha fine but in a weird way, I feel like some people just get it. Like old souls or something. Some people just understand things. Or I think its a level of being aware of how you act and how other people respond. Yeah, texting don't quite work.
Rick: You are so sweetly naive.
[End convo, Dec. 3 2010 1:09 am]
Honestly, it was his final text that really spurred me to write about this little exchange in the first place. It's a very good line in general. Even just the pairing of words really, "sweetly naive".
Now that said, I think he's wrong. But the diction is nice. Apparently, inspiring even.
Ok well, I've been interrupted and I'm no longer entirely sure why I was quoting this texting conversation in the first place, but I'll be sure to get back to the analysis as soon as possible. I think I was trying to maintain a metaphysical vibe through out my posts. I think this will suffice.
What forever unanswered question will keep you indefinitely unhappy?
It's worth a few minutes reflection for sure. I think from previous posts its evident that my unanswered question would be something along the lines of "why the hell are we here?"
Bon voyage, France. Hallo, Prague.
Friday, December 3, 2010
Sunday, November 28, 2010
Because Brittany, France is kinda like Buenos Aires
So, change of plans. I want to be that cool earthy girl who wants to teach English in South America, but I'm not. So France it is. Fewer parasites, better food.
My parents and I just finished a lovely discussion concerning their role as my personal financial backers. We had a few hiccups at the beginning as he began what I will refer to as "lawyering". I kindly reminded him we were in the family living room and not in the middle of a heated business deal transaction. He gruffled (yes, I realize this is made up) at me, but then slowly changed his ways. I picture the word gruffle as being defined as the grumbling noise made when someone gets his or her feathers in a ruffle. Gruffling. Although, admittedly this word could also be a creature of the Harry Potter collection. But, really now I'm just thinking those Griffin thingys that are half lion, half falcon. Fions really. I bet there are Fion statues somewhere in France. They seem like the sort of thing the French would fancy.
It was also brought to my attention by my favorite lawyer, that I don't speak French. I retorted that I speak Spanish. He retorted, my point exactly, let me repeat, you don't speak French. Lucky for me, I had picked up a beginners French sing-along CD just a few months ago and I was able to end this discussion of my linguistic competency with an "Un, du, twah. Bonjour. Madmoiselle".
Clearly, I would be fine.
Adious, Buenos Aires. Bonjour, France.
My parents and I just finished a lovely discussion concerning their role as my personal financial backers. We had a few hiccups at the beginning as he began what I will refer to as "lawyering". I kindly reminded him we were in the family living room and not in the middle of a heated business deal transaction. He gruffled (yes, I realize this is made up) at me, but then slowly changed his ways. I picture the word gruffle as being defined as the grumbling noise made when someone gets his or her feathers in a ruffle. Gruffling. Although, admittedly this word could also be a creature of the Harry Potter collection. But, really now I'm just thinking those Griffin thingys that are half lion, half falcon. Fions really. I bet there are Fion statues somewhere in France. They seem like the sort of thing the French would fancy.
It was also brought to my attention by my favorite lawyer, that I don't speak French. I retorted that I speak Spanish. He retorted, my point exactly, let me repeat, you don't speak French. Lucky for me, I had picked up a beginners French sing-along CD just a few months ago and I was able to end this discussion of my linguistic competency with an "Un, du, twah. Bonjour. Madmoiselle".
Clearly, I would be fine.
Adious, Buenos Aires. Bonjour, France.
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
An attempt to explain an unidentifiable, sneaky emotion
So naturally its been a month since I found the desire to post again. Well, here it is. I want to move to Buenos Aires. To teach. English. People who know me might laugh aloud at this statement do to my overall clumsiness at life and particularly unimposing character which doesn't make me a very authoritative sort of being. People who really know me, think I will do fine. Which I will. But, I'm still nervous as all heck.
There seems to be a fine line between thinking you should do something because its the sort of thing a person like you should, or really, would want to do and doing something because you really want to. I find this intriguing because there is always a divide between who you currently are. What you currently think you should be. And what you must do to get there. And then the you that gets there and is still yearning to be another you. Sort of makes you wonder which you is really you. Which you counts. Which you should raise it's hand if the authority of the natural world was demanding a role call.
If its one thing I find interesting about the current teachings of the college of metaphysics, which I have caught bits and pieces through my mother (and undoubtedly filtered them thus), its the idea to try and step outside of your emotion as you are experiencing it. Try to say out loud all of your thoughts to explain why you are feeling the way you are. Why you are feeling some sort of unpleasant, yet difficult to identify sort of emotion.
By doing so, I think I have gotten closer to understanding why I have been feeling the way I have been feeling. Its this overwhelming feeling that floods into me at the strangest of moments. For instance, in savasana the other day. Sticky place to feel the need to break down, seeing as its deathly silent and you are trapped in a dark yoga studio room with twenty nostril breathing strangers . Or, for example, tonight on my drive home from Buffalo Wild Wings. More private, but its still just as disconcerting when that sneaky emotional response comes pouring out at odd moments. Apparently, ranch can have dangerous emotional side effects.
Anyway, back to my analysis of why I am having these emotions. It goes something like this. I'm twenty two working at what is for me a transitional job in retail (although lululemon, is to be fair much more than retail, but I just don't see myself as a manager or really a business person at all). So, when I am safely locked in transition, working at the mall, living with my parents, driving the car my parents bought, flashing the health insurance with my father's name as the primary, and sleeping in my childhood bed, it feels like all possibility is still open. I am still an infinite, undecided potentiality. I am always in a state of becoming and it seems if I never follow through with a single action towards permanency, then life remains infinite. I am very much alive and the idea of only one life to live with less than one hundred years to breath and just one life partner to share it with appears as a distant, harmless, formless figure on a horizon of which I am headed too but will never reach. Taking definitive action on a career path, feels like I am closing down every other door and I am made very aware that as a human being, I only get one shot. One life to live. I don't really mean any of this to have a spiritual connotation. I mean it in a very literal and scary way. Its because as soon as I really dig deep into what I want to do, I see my whole life slowly lining up before me and suddenly I am a certain "career" with a certain"husband" living in a certain "place" with certain "kids" in a certain "school district" and thats that. I mean, I might like, or love every certain thing in my life. It's just that it means its decided. Its done. Ok its not that bleak, but then suddenly I am 57 years old wondering what the hell happened. It's no wonder people go through mid-life crises. To get back to a state of flippant youth, where life is suddenly infinite potential again and you can start anew, no nagging, decided strings attached. If at 22 your identity awaits you, at 57 it haunts you. So again, if I can just stay here, hiding in Lakewood without making decisions which give me some sort of lasting identity, well then death seems much farther away.
Let me stress here, its not so much the actuality of dying or what that feels like or what comes after. Its just the looming sense of you only get to be one you. Not different "you's". Its similar to that trapped feeling when you want to run far into the woods where no one can find you. Or chunk your cell phone out the window. People talk about the "sublime" or the breathlessness that occurs when you find youself face to face with nature. With something without a consciousness, something that can't care if you are there or not. I don't mean this either in a vague or overly used sort of way. Like how nature reminds of how small we really are. People say phrases like this in passing or at times when its just the time to say that sort of thing. I mean this in a real sense. A lump in your throat. An overwhelming feeling of being at a loss. That little you standing in some untouched national park standing at the base of a mountain that just doesn't particularly give a fuck. Its a plunging sensation. Like diving into cold water. Or what one imagines jumping off a cliff would feel like. (and no, I don't mean this in a suicidal sense, just a physical comparison to the emotional response) Perhaps, bun-gee jumping is a safer, more PC comparison.
Time to step back. I should say here, I obviously don't feel this continually. And its not a sort of "depressed" feeling per se.
I suppose its just an awareness that you only get one life. And I am nervous because as soon as I actually begin that life, I can see straight through to the end, and this clarity makes it a mute point. A why bother now? Maybe thats what people really mean when they say you have to grow up. You have to accept that you will have a singular identity and you only have so much time, so get moving. Be responsible. Get a plan.
And I think they are right. This is a sort of coming to terms. And oddly enough, I think for some people there is a safety in this. A comforting feeling that I don't have. I think some would say I am only NOT comforted because I haven't found what makes me passionate. And maybe they are right. But I think this goes deeper than that. Its an issue of developing any type of identity. And yes we change and we grow and we develop. But our four year old self is still considered our eighty year old self. And you don't get to start again at eighty.
So hell, maybe it is really a fear of death. Sounds sort of cliche and typical, but it seems to be the final final cause. The uncaused cause. So apparently it seems, Buenos Aires is located directionally opposite of where ever my version of death calls his home. Again, ironic that I find a sense of death in finding my true identity.
Tried to read Neitzche. It's interesting for sure. But, I think it would be more interesting if I felt like I was grasping even 35% of what he is saying.
Begs the question. Am I just the type of person who wants to be the type of person who reads Neitzsche in their spare time? Or am I actually the person who reads Neitszche in their spare time? Well, I guess I can say one thing for sure, I am the person who most likely isn't spelling his name right.
But who honestly needs the Germans anyway?
Buenos Aires, here I come.
There seems to be a fine line between thinking you should do something because its the sort of thing a person like you should, or really, would want to do and doing something because you really want to. I find this intriguing because there is always a divide between who you currently are. What you currently think you should be. And what you must do to get there. And then the you that gets there and is still yearning to be another you. Sort of makes you wonder which you is really you. Which you counts. Which you should raise it's hand if the authority of the natural world was demanding a role call.
If its one thing I find interesting about the current teachings of the college of metaphysics, which I have caught bits and pieces through my mother (and undoubtedly filtered them thus), its the idea to try and step outside of your emotion as you are experiencing it. Try to say out loud all of your thoughts to explain why you are feeling the way you are. Why you are feeling some sort of unpleasant, yet difficult to identify sort of emotion.
By doing so, I think I have gotten closer to understanding why I have been feeling the way I have been feeling. Its this overwhelming feeling that floods into me at the strangest of moments. For instance, in savasana the other day. Sticky place to feel the need to break down, seeing as its deathly silent and you are trapped in a dark yoga studio room with twenty nostril breathing strangers . Or, for example, tonight on my drive home from Buffalo Wild Wings. More private, but its still just as disconcerting when that sneaky emotional response comes pouring out at odd moments. Apparently, ranch can have dangerous emotional side effects.
Anyway, back to my analysis of why I am having these emotions. It goes something like this. I'm twenty two working at what is for me a transitional job in retail (although lululemon, is to be fair much more than retail, but I just don't see myself as a manager or really a business person at all). So, when I am safely locked in transition, working at the mall, living with my parents, driving the car my parents bought, flashing the health insurance with my father's name as the primary, and sleeping in my childhood bed, it feels like all possibility is still open. I am still an infinite, undecided potentiality. I am always in a state of becoming and it seems if I never follow through with a single action towards permanency, then life remains infinite. I am very much alive and the idea of only one life to live with less than one hundred years to breath and just one life partner to share it with appears as a distant, harmless, formless figure on a horizon of which I am headed too but will never reach. Taking definitive action on a career path, feels like I am closing down every other door and I am made very aware that as a human being, I only get one shot. One life to live. I don't really mean any of this to have a spiritual connotation. I mean it in a very literal and scary way. Its because as soon as I really dig deep into what I want to do, I see my whole life slowly lining up before me and suddenly I am a certain "career" with a certain"husband" living in a certain "place" with certain "kids" in a certain "school district" and thats that. I mean, I might like, or love every certain thing in my life. It's just that it means its decided. Its done. Ok its not that bleak, but then suddenly I am 57 years old wondering what the hell happened. It's no wonder people go through mid-life crises. To get back to a state of flippant youth, where life is suddenly infinite potential again and you can start anew, no nagging, decided strings attached. If at 22 your identity awaits you, at 57 it haunts you. So again, if I can just stay here, hiding in Lakewood without making decisions which give me some sort of lasting identity, well then death seems much farther away.
Let me stress here, its not so much the actuality of dying or what that feels like or what comes after. Its just the looming sense of you only get to be one you. Not different "you's". Its similar to that trapped feeling when you want to run far into the woods where no one can find you. Or chunk your cell phone out the window. People talk about the "sublime" or the breathlessness that occurs when you find youself face to face with nature. With something without a consciousness, something that can't care if you are there or not. I don't mean this either in a vague or overly used sort of way. Like how nature reminds of how small we really are. People say phrases like this in passing or at times when its just the time to say that sort of thing. I mean this in a real sense. A lump in your throat. An overwhelming feeling of being at a loss. That little you standing in some untouched national park standing at the base of a mountain that just doesn't particularly give a fuck. Its a plunging sensation. Like diving into cold water. Or what one imagines jumping off a cliff would feel like. (and no, I don't mean this in a suicidal sense, just a physical comparison to the emotional response) Perhaps, bun-gee jumping is a safer, more PC comparison.
Time to step back. I should say here, I obviously don't feel this continually. And its not a sort of "depressed" feeling per se.
I suppose its just an awareness that you only get one life. And I am nervous because as soon as I actually begin that life, I can see straight through to the end, and this clarity makes it a mute point. A why bother now? Maybe thats what people really mean when they say you have to grow up. You have to accept that you will have a singular identity and you only have so much time, so get moving. Be responsible. Get a plan.
And I think they are right. This is a sort of coming to terms. And oddly enough, I think for some people there is a safety in this. A comforting feeling that I don't have. I think some would say I am only NOT comforted because I haven't found what makes me passionate. And maybe they are right. But I think this goes deeper than that. Its an issue of developing any type of identity. And yes we change and we grow and we develop. But our four year old self is still considered our eighty year old self. And you don't get to start again at eighty.
So hell, maybe it is really a fear of death. Sounds sort of cliche and typical, but it seems to be the final final cause. The uncaused cause. So apparently it seems, Buenos Aires is located directionally opposite of where ever my version of death calls his home. Again, ironic that I find a sense of death in finding my true identity.
Tried to read Neitzche. It's interesting for sure. But, I think it would be more interesting if I felt like I was grasping even 35% of what he is saying.
Begs the question. Am I just the type of person who wants to be the type of person who reads Neitzsche in their spare time? Or am I actually the person who reads Neitszche in their spare time? Well, I guess I can say one thing for sure, I am the person who most likely isn't spelling his name right.
But who honestly needs the Germans anyway?
Buenos Aires, here I come.
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
Because Ms. Diamond had one (a practice round)
Clearing: I may or may not have started this after hearing that my BFFL (pronounced "biffel", best friend for life) and role model, Gerri Diamond, has recently taken to writing a "run" blog about her new life in Baltimore. And in the grand scheme of things, we may be the only two who regularly follow each others blogs, because far be it from us to actually stay in contact with people in any direct manner. We tend to "creep" on like things like facebook and blogspots because then we can stay updated on others whereabouts and adventurous exploits without actually speaking to them.
Tricky things, blogs. Attempting to be funny, without being too cheeky, obnoxious or continually self deprecating. Sincere, but in all honesty your publishing your thoughts on a "google" blog so just how open and tech savvy can you really pretend to be? I think this must happen a lot in a blog too, making fun of your own self in attempts to rationalize your own blog endeavor efforts.
I think the real issue at heart is, that when you choose to create a blog, you tacitly imply that people would actually want to read what you write. Well, not even imply really, but more directly, you actually believe people will find what you have to say interesting, funny or thought provoking. And that's a scary thing to appear to think, and deep down sorta maybe think too, I think.
Clearing Number 2: I spent 17 minutes attempting to come up with a catchy name for the thing, follwed by another 13 minutes to come up with a "url" name and finally another 31 minutes playing with the page settings and colors and fonts. In all honesty, my initial enthusiasm has declined, but in the spirit of the hour I decided I must at least post something.
Clearing about the term "clearing": I work at lululemon. We use a lot of uplifting, goal orienting, self opening jargon, like "clearing".
Blogs in and of themselves are like clearings, really. It just means spitting out the things that are floating about your mind that are keeping you from being present.
I should take a moment to interject here that aside from me working for a company that promotes "self development", my mother also teaches at the College of Metaphysics. So, if by chance you plan to be a regular follower of this blog, just prepare yourself. This is the third time while writing that I have paused and thought of a few sentences to write in my head (the most recent being, "even eckhart tolle couldn't submerse himself in this metaphysical of an environment). I then decided this wasn't a very funny or particularly profound statement and so I chose not to include it. I then wondered if I could write about wondering whether to write something. And then I wrote it so, so much for just wondering.
I wonder if people will find little free flowing tangents like the one above intriguing or annoying.
Perhaps, I shall just write all of my "wondering" comments in italics.
Yes. Italics most certainly suits the wondering. This is getting to be a bit strange and perhaps too free form.
Anyway, I've also decided to catalogue code names (well some of them aren't so encrypted) of some of the characters in my life.
RECAP on characters thus far:
Planet Holly, Ms. Diamond, Mr. Swarrick, Sherah, Fluster Bunny, *wikiwiki, Ben, Jen and more to come.
I think this should all get less, pithy, and more sincere as the blogging goes. In all honesty, I think more people should write more often, including myself. I like writing because unlike conversation, the other person isn't simply scheming (perhaps this is too harsh a word) as to when to jump in and turn the conversation back onto themselves. Because in conversation, we are, unavoidably, always thinking of what to say next, how to respond in the moment. But, when you read, your mind goes to rest and you take in much more than you would in a face-to-face conversation. At least, thats how I am with reading. And, just like with making anything, there's definitely a shiny little part of me that is like "hey look, I MAAADE something". And it may not be something of any particularly high literary quality or outstanding comedic wit, but its something semi-permanent and structurally independent none-the-less.
Clearing concerning my syntax, grammar and all forms of punctuation: I over use prepositional phrases and quotation marks and have terrible spelling. I know this. But it probably won't change. And I use the word "particularly" all the time.
I think in future posts I will give myself a more defined subject matter. Next blog, or chapter as I'd like to think of it, will explain the title Blue Velvet.
Hint: It has to do with White 1988 Lincoln Towncars.
I think the key to blogging is not to re-read over what you have written or you'll never have the courage to publicly post anything. Yep, no more re-reading.
Tricky things, blogs. Attempting to be funny, without being too cheeky, obnoxious or continually self deprecating. Sincere, but in all honesty your publishing your thoughts on a "google" blog so just how open and tech savvy can you really pretend to be? I think this must happen a lot in a blog too, making fun of your own self in attempts to rationalize your own blog endeavor efforts.
I think the real issue at heart is, that when you choose to create a blog, you tacitly imply that people would actually want to read what you write. Well, not even imply really, but more directly, you actually believe people will find what you have to say interesting, funny or thought provoking. And that's a scary thing to appear to think, and deep down sorta maybe think too, I think.
Clearing Number 2: I spent 17 minutes attempting to come up with a catchy name for the thing, follwed by another 13 minutes to come up with a "url" name and finally another 31 minutes playing with the page settings and colors and fonts. In all honesty, my initial enthusiasm has declined, but in the spirit of the hour I decided I must at least post something.
Clearing about the term "clearing": I work at lululemon. We use a lot of uplifting, goal orienting, self opening jargon, like "clearing".
Blogs in and of themselves are like clearings, really. It just means spitting out the things that are floating about your mind that are keeping you from being present.
I should take a moment to interject here that aside from me working for a company that promotes "self development", my mother also teaches at the College of Metaphysics. So, if by chance you plan to be a regular follower of this blog, just prepare yourself. This is the third time while writing that I have paused and thought of a few sentences to write in my head (the most recent being, "even eckhart tolle couldn't submerse himself in this metaphysical of an environment). I then decided this wasn't a very funny or particularly profound statement and so I chose not to include it. I then wondered if I could write about wondering whether to write something. And then I wrote it so, so much for just wondering.
I wonder if people will find little free flowing tangents like the one above intriguing or annoying.
Perhaps, I shall just write all of my "wondering" comments in italics.
Yes. Italics most certainly suits the wondering. This is getting to be a bit strange and perhaps too free form.
Anyway, I've also decided to catalogue code names (well some of them aren't so encrypted) of some of the characters in my life.
- Character One: Planet Holly, also referred to lovingly as Diva (she's abroad right now, but is going to be absolutely ecstatic that she is considered "Character One" and I did so because she is the only person I know who would be genuinely pleased with this blog ranking)
- Character Two: Ms. Diamond, after all she is the inspiration of this whole enterprise.
- Character Three: Mr. Swarrick, he knows who he is.
- Character Four: Sherah, my mother.
- Character Five: Fluster Bunny, kudos to whoever guesses who this is. I should also look up where "kudos" comes from. No earthly clue. Probably latin or something. I'll wikipedia soon and report back.
- Character 6: *wikiwiki, this isn't a character, but given the discussion around Character 5, I will simply use this phrase when I think something relatively unknown, but commonly used needs some clarification via wikipedia. For instance, one wonders what comes up when one wikipedias (in the verb sense), the phrase "wikipedia" (*wikiwiki)
- Character 7: Ben, the guy who introduced me to my Australian ex-boyfriend. Ben would always say "wiki-wiki" when watching a Cricket game so naturally he came to mind. Ben also used to shout, "I'M NOT MUMBLING" in a very articulated manner at me and my other American friends who could never fully understand any Australian when they were speaking in full go.
- Character 8: Jen, she is that person at work that you ALWAYS manage to do something stupid in front of. ALWAYS. Like screw up the cash register. Like look for pant hangers in every possible cabinet, except the cabinet they are locked away in. Like leave your car door wide open in the parking lot the entire time you are in a boxing class. Things like that.
- Character 9: to be continued...
RECAP on characters thus far:
Planet Holly, Ms. Diamond, Mr. Swarrick, Sherah, Fluster Bunny, *wikiwiki, Ben, Jen and more to come.
I think this should all get less, pithy, and more sincere as the blogging goes. In all honesty, I think more people should write more often, including myself. I like writing because unlike conversation, the other person isn't simply scheming (perhaps this is too harsh a word) as to when to jump in and turn the conversation back onto themselves. Because in conversation, we are, unavoidably, always thinking of what to say next, how to respond in the moment. But, when you read, your mind goes to rest and you take in much more than you would in a face-to-face conversation. At least, thats how I am with reading. And, just like with making anything, there's definitely a shiny little part of me that is like "hey look, I MAAADE something". And it may not be something of any particularly high literary quality or outstanding comedic wit, but its something semi-permanent and structurally independent none-the-less.
Clearing concerning my syntax, grammar and all forms of punctuation: I over use prepositional phrases and quotation marks and have terrible spelling. I know this. But it probably won't change. And I use the word "particularly" all the time.
I think in future posts I will give myself a more defined subject matter. Next blog, or chapter as I'd like to think of it, will explain the title Blue Velvet.
Hint: It has to do with White 1988 Lincoln Towncars.
I think the key to blogging is not to re-read over what you have written or you'll never have the courage to publicly post anything. Yep, no more re-reading.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)