Speechless

The select few amount of people in this world who can write well make it look so easy. As if writing is nothing more than talking -- Anyone can do it, right?

Well, constructing complete sentences is one thing; making them sound good is another.

I love writing; I think it is the single most beautiful way of expressing oneself. But it's an art--it demands hard work, dedication and thought. I can sometimes do hard work if I really put my mind to it, but thinking is another thing in itself. What a frustration it is to stare at a blank page with nothing running through your head.

I have very loud thoughts and a strong admiration for writing; I know I have something to say. The trouble is knowing how, exactly, to say it.

When Life Sucks...

Bad Days Happen.

What are humans without heartbreak?
Oh, that's right...happy.

What can I say...I've had a terrible day.
I seriously don't want to post anything whiny or depressing. I'd like to be witty and smart and not completely embarass myself when I write. But if I hold myself to some standard of writing scintillating and satirical stuff all the time...I just won't write at all.

To put things simply, I stumbled into a big wall of emotion a few nights ago. It multiplied itself quickly, leading to an awful screaming mental breakdown last night. Today was thus a painful lonely day where absolutely everything made me want to burst into tears. And there was really not a damn thing I could do about it.

These days happen. Life tastes sweet when they're over. You've got to get through rain to see the rainbow, love the rose despite its thorns, live for the calm after the storm, the dawn after the dark, etcetera, etcetera.

There's really nothing I can do but survive that inevitable heartbreaking emotion. And then write crappy blogs about it.

Making Do Without the Muse

If only I would simply try...

Oh, I make myself angry sometimes. How long has it been since I've written?
That's disgusting.

I realize, this is the blog of an 18-year-old girl; it's hardly important to anyone but me. But really, it's the only thing I publish. And it's something.

Honestly, I find this so difficult to do. It shouldn't be that hard--making up something interesting about my day and writing a few paragraphs about it. Unfortunately, writing is insanely difficult, especially when it's the last thing in the world I want to do.

But I've been doing it for a while, and, well...why quit? What else can I do, really?

I'm done for tonight. Wish me luck in hunting down that damn inspiration.

Confessions of a Night Owl

Mornings sure aren't easy.

I have always had a hard time understanding how anyone could classify themself as a "morning person." Night owl that I am, I have a terrible time waking up at any hour before 10 AM. Number one on my list of "Things I Hate About School" has always been getting up early. I've often commented that I wouldn't mind school at all if we could simply start at 2PM and go on until about 8. (Though I'm sure, if that were the case, I would hate school even more.)

Since school let out, I've been sleeping ridiculously. In fact, I'm a little embarrassed to tell you exactly how much. They say the average adult needs eight hours of sleep. And I've read that teenage girls sometimes need ten. I can very easily clock twelve. There was one night, recently, where I slept ten to eleven hours, after which I ate breakfast/lunch (I tend to wake up at about lunchtime but the first meal of the day is called breakfast anyways.), and then went back to my room to sleep for another 3 hours. My Mom came down to my room at about 4:30PM, when I was rolling around happily in that space between sleep and consciousness, and demanded to know if I had been sleeping. (As if it is some sort of unspeakable crime.) I told her, no, I had just been reading, and she went away. (When my Mom asks me what I'm doing, I usually say "nothing" or "reading." I doubt she ever believes me, but for some reason it's better to say that than to admit that I'm sleeping, talking to friends or watching movies.)

I had work at 10AM today, which for most would be a pleasant hour, but which for me has become unspeakably early. I slammed repeatedly on my alarm clock's SNOOZE button this morning (as is my usual custom), and drifted in and out of vivid dreams, thinking, I don't doze...I hibernate.

When it became absolutely too late for me to press SNOOZE again, I threw my covers at the wall and managed, shakily, to stand up.

I bitched and moaned and cursed my way through the morning until I was standing in line at McDonald's, cashing in my coupon for a free breakfast sandwich. (That's what you get when they make you wait 20 minutes for ten little McNuggets and a box of soggy fries.) As I waited for my McGriddle, I looked around the restaurant and noticed that every restaurant customer (besides me, of course), appeared to be over 70 years old. They were all sitting peacefully at their own tables, sipping hot McDonald's coffee over their newspapers and crossword puzzles.

I wanted to sit in the corner and watch them. Oh, I thought, What people watching can be done in the morning! Look what I have been deprived of, all these years!

I've come to the conclusion that mornings hold for me a tranquility and clear sense of mind that I don't find at any other time of day. The hard part is, I've got to tear myself out of bed in order to experience it. I've also discovered that once I get that nasty separation with my bed out of the way, the rest of the day can be quite nice.

P.S. Oh, anonymous blog commenters, how I love you.