A dear, dear friend of mine posted a new blog called "Old Writing" and it inspired me to flip back through one of my old journals to find something I liked... a throwback, if you will.
This is for one of two reasons; for nostalgia's sake, and for lack of anything good to throw in here lately. My streak of being uninspired continues. So, here's some writing time travel.
This is from December 17, 2005 [Freshman year...]
"I'm beginning to realize the importance of what I have. I have family and friends that love me, a house, food, education... I'm living, I'm healthy... I'm lucky to have what I have. Of course, you're going to run into the occasional problem or two, but what doesn't kill you makes you stronger. Everything that has happened to me negatively has had an impact on the way I live today. I'm taking advantage of the fact that I'm only fourteen--I have so much life left! I want to really live it to it's fullest potential and have an amazing high school career and eventually, an amazing life!"
This is from August 2, 2006 [Sophomore year...]
(mini epiphany following a Jason Mraz song)
"Life is way too short to spend each day worrying about the next one.
And even though me and the majority of the angst filled teenage population are in a hectic hurry to grow up, I've realized that I need to soak up those carefree summer nights, those late night phone calls, Friday night football games, random and even pointless teenage things we have fun with... I need to soak up every second.
Because when I'm 40, none of my friends will be interested in blasting "Tell Me When to Go" and participating in Chinese fire drills. Do it now.
Note to self: Live, please. Because pretty soon you'll have to find a job and pay taxes and apply to colleges. Scary? Yes. But part of life? Also, yes.
In the end, we all die. It's true. We're not invincible. But you only live once, so we have no choice but to really make the best of each day. I'm sure it will be great when I'm 70 years old talking to my grandchildren about the good ole' days...
'You've never heard "Tell Me When to Go"?! Man, do I have stories for you...'"
This is from November 12, 2007 [Junior year... when I started loving my journals and stopped being embarrassed of them.]
"There's a boy in my first period that plays the drums. I've never actually heard him play, but people say he's really talented. Anyway, I watch him in class and he is the most applied person I have ever seen. He's an awesome student. I was talking to him one day, about his hair...which is shoulder length and always spills over his eyes whenever he takes notes. He has to constantly fix it in order to see. He told me that if he gets good grades, his mom won't make him cut it, so that's why he's so disciplined and focused at school.
I reminded him (like an asshole) that hair can always grow back, but he told me that he is convinced that he plays drums better with long hair. He can shake his head around like a bad ass, and, like he says, "look soooo much sicker playing" than he would with short hair.
That made me smile. He loves the drums that much...it's his passion. And he will work as hard as he has to in order to keep his passion alive, in the way that he wants it.
I want to learn why people do things. Because everyone does the things they do for a reason. If AP English 3 has taught me anything, it's that."
[I unfortunately cannot find my journal from senior year...which is breaking my heart. I'll continue the search. But until then, here is an entry from November, 2009...one of my favorite poems I've ever written. Wrote it when I was still at HSU.]
The spirit of a bird
she soars over cities and skyscrapers
she looks onto the busy people
wise, yet curious eyes
hungry for experience.
She is soft.
Her feathers fluid through air
like fingers treading milky skin
She flies
over mountains and untouched land
gracing the ground below with her fleeting shadow
She lands, ever so quickly
never one to settle
only hoping to see everything she can see
taste everything she can taste
breathing in life, one tiny bird lung at a time.
Such a shame
for me to clip her wings
to watch her struggle underneath my weight
to take away her grace
strip her of her mobility
only lifting inches off the ground
looking towards an open sky
a blue and white canvas of yearning
behind the bars of my inadvertent cage.
And lastly, this is from my newest journal... I only had a handful of pages to choose from.
[May 27, 2010]
"My joints in my hands have been tight and aching from writing essays and filling in bubbles but right now, as I write this, my hand feels fine. No strain, maybe a slight presence of a distant cousin of 'pain', but not hurtful. Pleasure, if anything, breathing in cool breaths of air, the air of creativity and fulfillment, for once. Nothing factual, or structured. Or structured, but on my terms. Hence my current belief that school is disintegrating my mind rather than improving it. Its just work. But that is what I suppose adulthood is. And I believe that the era I am entering now is just that--adulthood. Genuine adulthood, not the romantic era of "adulthood" that follows getting your drivers license or graduating high school. The ugly, raw adulthood that happens to people. People I know are joining the army and getting pregnant and getting married. I have to pay an electricity bill now.
It will be so interesting to explore this."
