Sentimentality?

Reading old blog posts makes me... wistful? No, that isn't it. It makes me wonder at the person I once was. It's myself, frozen in time. A snapshot. And I marvel that I felt that way about that subject, or thought those thoughts, or that I used those words or did that thing.

It's all very strange.

I've kept two serious blogs, before this one (and I don't even know if this one is serious yet). Serious Blogs that I filled with my hopes and dreams and joys and fears and annoyances. Both of them LiveJournals.

As I reread its entries, the first blog saddens me. It's an Ode to Teenagehood, to the seventeen-year-old I was. I did things I'm no longer proud of, and I spoke in a way that is very foreign, now. I wanted to fit in so badly, I was almost willing to do anything it took. But they didn't even care if I fit in or not. There was no peer pressure - I imagined it, at the time. And I fell prey to the imaginings. This is the blog that documents events that I wish I could erase, but who have ultimately shaped who I am now.

The second blog is a bookmark between Then and Now. It has showy entries, decidedly flippant in voice, and ends on a sour, forgotten note. Sour because upon remembering that year, I shake my head in amazement at my stubbornness and stupidity. So many ugly things came out of that year. So many good things, too, I know. But I remember the ugly first. It rings of soap opera plots: secret love, a broken heart, parties, the lack of fitting in, and that fateful day that began a two-year-long series of interactions that ended in the worst of ways - anger and hatred.

All I can think of when I read these two blogs is how stupid it all was, how trivial. And yet... and yet, I am glad I have some documentation of how it all was, to begin with. I am such a different person now, much more confident, much more alive. It's good to be able to see these changes. It's good to know that people change, and that life goes on.

How very sentimental.

And now, there is this blog.

I don't know how long I will keep this up. I mean, this is only my third entry, and it's been what, three months? Maybe two. But it's nice to have an outlet again. Keep your fingers crossed.

Oh wow it's poetry time

Found poetry:

poetry written using only cut-out words found in magazines or newspapers

or

poems created by rearranging and subtracting the words found in a published article

---------------------------

"They say"

[created using words found in Glamour magazine advertisements]

They say

Don't try too hard

Put your best foot forward.

Stand up straight.

Don't

Do

Don't

Do

Don't

What

would make

you happy?

You will question

every decision you've

ever made.

so

Shed your fears and try something

a little more

you

Mood poems:

poetry written using this format.

---------------------------

"I'm feeling mean today"

I'm feeling mean today.

Not like I'd scrape your car door with my house key mean,

And not like I'd kick your cat mean.

I'm not feeling mean like I'd throw a rock at that window.

No, I'm just feeling mean like I'd pretend that my phone was turned off,

Or mean like I wouldn't recycle this bottle.

I'm feeling mean like I would walk across a clean floor with muddy shoes

And wouldn't care.

Too many thinks to think

I find it inherently ironic that on the one Friday night that there isn’t bass thumping,

the one Friday night when the Newfies have gone to bed early and aren’t watching Seinfeld reruns,

the one Friday night since I’ve been here that I’m not feeling insanely lonely,

I’m wide awake. Instead of sleeping, I’m thinking about every think I can possibly not want to think at 12:42am, because it will only make me want to think more.

How much I hate not having a weekly paycheck, because I am a Student again. The pile of homework that is steadily mounting. My wedding is over a year away. Oh crap, the wedding’s only 14 months away. The fact that I am living with three crazy Newfies who have giggly drinking parties at 3 in the morning.

Am I relishing in the silence of Friday Night? A little. Do I wish I could sleep? Yes. Why? Because on Saturday mornings, the Worker Bees hibernate. I don’t wake up to the sweet sounds of machinery at 6am, nor do I wake up to the delightful pounding rhythm of hammer on nail a half hour later. Saturday mornings have no sound. I wake up whenever the sun manages to creep in around the blackout curtains, and then I lay in bed arguing with myself about the pros and cons of physically making the motion to swing my legs over the side of the bed and shuffle over to the window.

So, Friday Night, what’s it gonna be? Insomnia? Or will you let me power down my brain for a while?