Everyone should read The Imperfectionists by Tom Rachman. Read it. You won’t regret it. One of the best books I’ve had the pleasure of reading.
It’s been a while.
I can’t remember why I stopped writing here. There’s something cathartic in the idea of my words lingering in cyberspace, waiting for the next pair of bored eyes to drift over their type.
I’m home for the summer now. The first year of college… it could have been better, I suppose. A lot happened. I grew up a lot. I experienced a lot. For the first time, I encountered true heartbreak–that was this past Friday, actually. But this too shall pass, and I’m prepared to be a newer, wiser person.
Tears are pointless things. I’m done with them for now, I think. I suppose my fear was, for a while, that I would never be able to find someone that I liked, and who liked me in return. There’s hope in the fact that I managed to do just that. Though the relationship ended, I’m happy to count my blessings where I can.
Next year will be different, I think. I’m going to go into it with a new attitude–a new approach. I’ll be a go-getter. Take no prisoners. That sort of thing.
Off to Disney World tomorrow. Never before have I so needed a vacation.
I think I should save up my money for a camera. Not a particularly expensive one, sure. But a camera. I want to be able to take photographic evidence so that, on days like the days I frequently am forced to trudge through, I can remember that things can also be good, that it’s a waiting game, really.
I used to think photographs are for people who can’t remember their own lives. I still do. The only difference is that now I realize that I am one of these people.
There are so many things I’m saving for. Money continues to be excruciatingly tight, and there’s still so much I need to do. I just signed a lease on my first apartment. I don’t have enough hours in the day to keep myself comfortable, and I feel horrible asking my parents for money when I know they’re having worse, harder difficulties back home.
But I think I need a camera. I feel like I breeze through life, never stopping to pay attention to the wonders surrounding me. I live in a beautiful place and it never occurs to me to make the time to stop, and to savor it. I want to always be able to remember the good times, the times when I’m with friends and someone’s just told a joke and we’re laughing and laughing and laughing, and I want to be able to cherish these images, and turn to them when something horrible has happened, which occurs with rapidly increasing frequency. I need something to distract me, to move my mind from something painful to something wonderful, perhaps getting me to the point where my mind automatically refuses to linger on the sad times, the hard times, and the lean times. Where I don’t think about these things at all.
Cameras, it finally occurs to me, are not for remembering the good times; they are for forgetting the bad times. And I’m going to get one, someday.
I’ve been listening to “Commentary! The Musical.” I recommend for all you Whedonites out there.
Does your heartbeat ever just speed up at random? This happens a lot to me. I won’t even be exercising, either. I’ll just be sitting in class or watching a movie, and I’ll feel my heart start to race. I don’t understand it, and it typically makes me feel like I’m about to have a heart attack. Does this happen to people who are not me?
Now, friends, if you cast your gazes right-ward, you’ll notices a few neat-o additions to the page. Follow my tweets, check out which tags I use most frequently, AND subscribe to the website via email? Wow-ee! These are things that I would definitely recommend doing!!
Do you ever get the feeling that you’ve messed everything up, and it cannot possibly be fixed? I get that feeling a lot lately.
I’ve decided to drop my Art major, and just be a Journalism major (perhaps with a creative writing minor). I’ve come to the conclusion that, when I’m not doing the one specific thing that I love, I genuinely despise what I’m doing.
I’ve always liked creative writing. It’s taken me a while to reach this conclusion, but I think I’d much rather be spending my time with that than wiping charcoal dust from my eyes.
Below the jump is a piece of flash fiction I wrote for the Intro to Writing Fiction class I took last term. It got a good grade.