It's been a while since I've written...anything. I use writing primarily as a way to "get things out". And when I get comfortable in my current state, I have no reason to write.
I'd like to change that, but for now, I need to rant.
Think beginning voice over monologue in Spike Jonze's Adaptation...
I spent 2 1/2 hours on facebook last night, I didn't start the paper I was planning to write, and I can't seem to get out of my head.
I sometime think I'm becoming those statistics I laughed at at college orientation, "80% of students felt 'very sad' at numerous times of their first year". I'm not 'very sad' or even sad for that matter. I just feel "uncomfortable", getting used to things.
I worry so much about what others think of me. I'm constantly trying to mold myself into a presentable human being only to come off as awkward and funny at confrontations. I worry that if I ever truly love someone, I'll scare them away because of how passionate I am about them...within the first few weeks of the relationship. I listen to film soundtracks and expect brilliant script ideas to just come to me, sometime I think they do, but I never expand on them and eventually loose confidence.
I run everyday now and try to eat healthier but I still want to loose more weight. I feel like if I do that, I can cut out that whole body image part of my internal thoughts.
I feel like I am so naive to the world. People my age have experienced death, poverty, sex, drugs, divorced parents. I'm not wishing any of this upon myself, or anyone else but I do feel guilty when I complain about my self to my self.
I ran 28 laps around the health center track listening to Nick Cave.
ha, I just wanted to say that.
I glanced back on what I just wrote and realized how many I's there were. I need to stop being so into myself and learn to just LIVE. I need to love everyone, throw myself out into the open and experience all that life has to offer.
ah, see, I already feel better. I think it should just be mandatory for me to write a blog like this every once and I while. When I read this it just seems so ridiculous, and that's exactly what it is. To be able to read some of the thoughts that have passed through my mind recently is humbling. I should probably work on better rationalizing thoughts in my mind.
I internalize everything, it's just who I am I guess.
Monday, September 8, 2008
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
Ode to the Scheben Branch
This protruding thought clouds my mind.
The thought of moving from the compact Scheben library to the new, bigger, industrious Burlington branch sounds pretty bland and mundane on the surface. But there's so much more to it. I find myself playing sad-sounding indie songs behind a corny montage of my 4 years spent working at Scheben as a Page. I'm moving so I can be closer to NKU, where I'll be living next year. It's like an early graduation [I started working there at the beginning of Freshman year]. I'm moving on. Moving on from the place I listened to hundreds of hours of podcasts. The place I started at listening to MXPX and MCR and eventually grew to appreciate Yann Tiersen and The Turnbull AC's.
The Scheben library was a refuge. A place that remained constant in the weekly routine of school and homelife. I knew that two times a week, and occasionally weekends, I would be there.
The path between the towering book shelves I've walked through so many times hold years of my thoughts and ambitions. Letters to forgotten summer loves, lists of goals and "to do's", and sparse pages of self pity and realization. All glimpses into the hormonal raw emotion that has collected over the years on the backs of scrap paper and loose leaf.
I know, I'm romanticizing a brick building that sits next to a Krogers. But the thought of leaving the place I spent 15 hours each week for 4 years brings back a surge of memories.
Essentially, no momentous change will have been made in my transition. I'll still be working the same days and hours, walking the the same narrow paths between book shelves while listening to my favorite podcasts. It's just the thought of driving past it on my way to Burlington, working with new people, and not seeing the unknown, yet familiar faces of the regulars at Scheben. It's the beginning of new part of my life. A stop to the normal everyday routine. A new page in my life.
haha I'm sorry but I had to end it on that last line. It's so lame but it fit well.
The thought of moving from the compact Scheben library to the new, bigger, industrious Burlington branch sounds pretty bland and mundane on the surface. But there's so much more to it. I find myself playing sad-sounding indie songs behind a corny montage of my 4 years spent working at Scheben as a Page. I'm moving so I can be closer to NKU, where I'll be living next year. It's like an early graduation [I started working there at the beginning of Freshman year]. I'm moving on. Moving on from the place I listened to hundreds of hours of podcasts. The place I started at listening to MXPX and MCR and eventually grew to appreciate Yann Tiersen and The Turnbull AC's.
The Scheben library was a refuge. A place that remained constant in the weekly routine of school and homelife. I knew that two times a week, and occasionally weekends, I would be there.
The path between the towering book shelves I've walked through so many times hold years of my thoughts and ambitions. Letters to forgotten summer loves, lists of goals and "to do's", and sparse pages of self pity and realization. All glimpses into the hormonal raw emotion that has collected over the years on the backs of scrap paper and loose leaf.
I know, I'm romanticizing a brick building that sits next to a Krogers. But the thought of leaving the place I spent 15 hours each week for 4 years brings back a surge of memories.
Essentially, no momentous change will have been made in my transition. I'll still be working the same days and hours, walking the the same narrow paths between book shelves while listening to my favorite podcasts. It's just the thought of driving past it on my way to Burlington, working with new people, and not seeing the unknown, yet familiar faces of the regulars at Scheben. It's the beginning of new part of my life. A stop to the normal everyday routine. A new page in my life.
haha I'm sorry but I had to end it on that last line. It's so lame but it fit well.
Monologue: Part Deux
well, after realizing how terrible the grocery monologue was, I decided to write a new one at 12 am the night before I was to present it to the class.
It was about the time I spent 8 hours alone in Gate 7 of Reagan International (I was on standby).
It begins like this:
"I sat on a cream colored sofa in the Washington D.C. Hilton waiting for a cab."
And it ends like this:
"He didn't seem to care about the wait and neither did I."
I wrote it down and I don't feel like typing it out so that's all you're going to get...
Alright, well I guess that's all. I some more to say but I'm starting a new post.
It was about the time I spent 8 hours alone in Gate 7 of Reagan International (I was on standby).
It begins like this:
"I sat on a cream colored sofa in the Washington D.C. Hilton waiting for a cab."
And it ends like this:
"He didn't seem to care about the wait and neither did I."
I wrote it down and I don't feel like typing it out so that's all you're going to get...
Alright, well I guess that's all. I some more to say but I'm starting a new post.
Saturday, January 12, 2008
Grocery
this is a monologue I wrote for Creative Writing...
it will eventually be performed by Brandon Hite in front of the class
keep in mind that this will be more spaced out-longer pauses. He's not just going to read it, he's going to act it out...
It seems like every time I set foot in a grocery store, I’m forced to reckon with an 80s pop rock anthem by Bruce Springsteen or Cher. Cher is just...Cher. And Springsteen I’ve always thought was overrated. I mean really he’s just this average Joe with an average voice, average appearance, average songs, all topped off with a wife-beater. I don’t understand how he...wait, is soup in isle 7 or 8?
Oh yeah, it’s 7. Because last time I was here that old lady lectured me on how Campbells soup destroyed her liver.
Next up is...isle 10 for...oh! Cheap DVD bin! Ok lets see what we have here. Oh, A History of Violence for $9.99. That movie was terrible. David Cronenberg is a sadist. Ok well I guess I’ll be going with Dr. Strangelove then. “Gentlemen, you can't fight in here! This is the War Room.” Ah its such a good movie.
Ohhhhh wow. There’s Morgan. Just walk by casually and say you’re “hello’s” and then move on.
“H...Hi...”
Ah well that wasn’t awkward at all. Why did I ever break up with her? I mean I know why I broke up with her - it wasn’t working out. But why do I always pick the wrong ones? I think of myself as a nice person, but look what I did to her. I just left, left her alone. I didn’t even try to be a friend after it was over. She must think I’m such a jerk. God, I am a jerk. I need to eliminate “it’s not you it’s me” from my vocabulary. Why am I so irresponsible in relationships? I just wish they had never happened. Well no, I learned from them. So I guess it’s for the better in the long run.
I need to slow down. I need to put more though into these relationships before I get involved.
*brrrinnnggg*
“Hello? Oh hi mom. What else? Chicken balls? Ohhh...you mean the chicken nugget things. The red bag...yeah. O...O...Ok I’ll be home soon...love you...bye.”
*sighs*
*walks for some time to get the chicken balls*
*picks up the bag to read the front*
* in a southern accent*
“Tyson’s 100% white meat Chicken Balls”
*stares at girl down the isle*
Oh wow. She is attractive. It’s not everyday that you see a girl with a blazer and oh it’s...she has a Alfred Hitchcock t-shirt on! I didn’t even know those existed! Oh wow, ok just act cool. Well not cool like you’re trying to be. Cool like, you come to the chicken balls isle all the time. Noooo that’s weird. Who’s interested in a guy who hangs out in the chicken balls isle. Ok, ok just act normal.
I wonder if she would notice if I glanced at her again. Wow, she is the one. I know it. I mean Alfred Hitchcock shirt my god...it’s just...ok ok I need to calm down. She’s probably like 24 or something. But wow she is stunning.
Come on you don’t even know her. She could be like this feminist neo nazi or something. Ew maybe she likes A History of Violence too. Well as long as she likes Hitchcock I can deal with that. I can just picture us spending a day watching old Hitchcock movies all cuddled up on the couch. Then we would go out for a long walk and talk about life and have long comfortable silences. It would be perfect...and I wouldn’t have to worry about ever hurting her because it would be perfect. She would be there for me and I would be there for her. It would feel so real when as I hold her while we’re people watching in the airport. We would move to Chicago and meet other people who liked Hitchcock and hated A History of Violence and we would make these raw movies about those conversations on life we had on our long walks. I would experience love for the first time.
*breathes heavily, looks at the chicken balls, and then at the girl down the isle*
*he then snaps his head away from her direction as she walks towards him*
She’s coming this way...
*she walks past him and he watches her exit the isle*
*he places the chicken balls in the basket and leaves*
it will eventually be performed by Brandon Hite in front of the class
keep in mind that this will be more spaced out-longer pauses. He's not just going to read it, he's going to act it out...
It seems like every time I set foot in a grocery store, I’m forced to reckon with an 80s pop rock anthem by Bruce Springsteen or Cher. Cher is just...Cher. And Springsteen I’ve always thought was overrated. I mean really he’s just this average Joe with an average voice, average appearance, average songs, all topped off with a wife-beater. I don’t understand how he...wait, is soup in isle 7 or 8?
Oh yeah, it’s 7. Because last time I was here that old lady lectured me on how Campbells soup destroyed her liver.
Next up is...isle 10 for...oh! Cheap DVD bin! Ok lets see what we have here. Oh, A History of Violence for $9.99. That movie was terrible. David Cronenberg is a sadist. Ok well I guess I’ll be going with Dr. Strangelove then. “Gentlemen, you can't fight in here! This is the War Room.” Ah its such a good movie.
Ohhhhh wow. There’s Morgan. Just walk by casually and say you’re “hello’s” and then move on.
“H...Hi...”
Ah well that wasn’t awkward at all. Why did I ever break up with her? I mean I know why I broke up with her - it wasn’t working out. But why do I always pick the wrong ones? I think of myself as a nice person, but look what I did to her. I just left, left her alone. I didn’t even try to be a friend after it was over. She must think I’m such a jerk. God, I am a jerk. I need to eliminate “it’s not you it’s me” from my vocabulary. Why am I so irresponsible in relationships? I just wish they had never happened. Well no, I learned from them. So I guess it’s for the better in the long run.
I need to slow down. I need to put more though into these relationships before I get involved.
*brrrinnnggg*
“Hello? Oh hi mom. What else? Chicken balls? Ohhh...you mean the chicken nugget things. The red bag...yeah. O...O...Ok I’ll be home soon...love you...bye.”
*sighs*
*walks for some time to get the chicken balls*
*picks up the bag to read the front*
* in a southern accent*
“Tyson’s 100% white meat Chicken Balls”
*stares at girl down the isle*
Oh wow. She is attractive. It’s not everyday that you see a girl with a blazer and oh it’s...she has a Alfred Hitchcock t-shirt on! I didn’t even know those existed! Oh wow, ok just act cool. Well not cool like you’re trying to be. Cool like, you come to the chicken balls isle all the time. Noooo that’s weird. Who’s interested in a guy who hangs out in the chicken balls isle. Ok, ok just act normal.
I wonder if she would notice if I glanced at her again. Wow, she is the one. I know it. I mean Alfred Hitchcock shirt my god...it’s just...ok ok I need to calm down. She’s probably like 24 or something. But wow she is stunning.
Come on you don’t even know her. She could be like this feminist neo nazi or something. Ew maybe she likes A History of Violence too. Well as long as she likes Hitchcock I can deal with that. I can just picture us spending a day watching old Hitchcock movies all cuddled up on the couch. Then we would go out for a long walk and talk about life and have long comfortable silences. It would be perfect...and I wouldn’t have to worry about ever hurting her because it would be perfect. She would be there for me and I would be there for her. It would feel so real when as I hold her while we’re people watching in the airport. We would move to Chicago and meet other people who liked Hitchcock and hated A History of Violence and we would make these raw movies about those conversations on life we had on our long walks. I would experience love for the first time.
*breathes heavily, looks at the chicken balls, and then at the girl down the isle*
*he then snaps his head away from her direction as she walks towards him*
She’s coming this way...
*she walks past him and he watches her exit the isle*
*he places the chicken balls in the basket and leaves*
Friday, December 21, 2007
"Nah babe, If I Eat Anymore of Those Brownies I'm Gonna Be Sick..."
I feel I should post this song...it was what got me thinking about the subject
The Well and the Lighthouse by The Arcade Fire
Well, it almost come to the 1st anniversary of this blog. Close enough anyways, 2 months away...
What has come from it? I created it back in February of last year for reasons I can't remember, I'm assuming it was just to simply keep a blog. But as I look back, I realize how much I've changed as a person. I started by just basically recording my thoughts that day- college, snow day, etc. I've gotten to the point where I occasionally write something insightful. I'm a better writer than I was then, it's a slow but consistent process. I just still feel like there's something missing.
I was in creative writing class 2 weeks ago. Mr. Hamm assigned a poem. I immediately groan to myself and wait for the prompt. Write a poem about how you've progressed as a writer, of poetry in particular. I don't even like poetry, I never could write it. I love listening to Brian, Alex, and Brandon read their amazingly fluid, beautiful lines of poetry. But me? I can't do it. I always say, "Oh well I'd much rather write prose than I would poetry...". But what is the last piece of prose I've written? It's been about a month and a half. I haven't written anything in 50 days, besides a few clinical essays. As soon as I have this realization, my mind breaks through the chains I've subdued it in. There's so much I have to say, so much I've left to decay inside of me. I want, no I need to write something. And what do I decide to write with this bottled up inspiration? A poem of self-loathing. 25 lines of depressing dictum. No really, I'm not kidding. It's about how I wish I could write poetry better....I refuse to even re-read it to myself again.
After bottling up that discouraging writing experience, I have another realization, 2 weeks later, this morning...
The paper (or in this situation, the blog) is a fine place to vent on, process your internal struggles, and evaluate who you are as a person (which I do so often). But I think it's unhealthy to use the blog solely for these purposes. Besides the two pieces I posted back in October (the personal narrative and "Hold the Cream"), all I've written are bleak invitations into my mind at times of distress.
I want to change this. I want to stop trying to find myself all the time, and write for someone else. I want to stop being afraid to let myself show my true self, instead of covering it with a pity-craving rant. I know I have it in me, I've seen on paper before. I need to stop being so self-conscious and remember that my writing is my own, and its destined to be bad at first. It's a learning experience.
While I'm at, I want to be a better Christian, a better friend, and just a better person in general. Not to say I'm a bad person, I just have room to improve, just as I do in my writing.
So I guess that it. I guess you could consider this an early new year's resolution...
The Well and the Lighthouse by The Arcade Fire
Well, it almost come to the 1st anniversary of this blog. Close enough anyways, 2 months away...
What has come from it? I created it back in February of last year for reasons I can't remember, I'm assuming it was just to simply keep a blog. But as I look back, I realize how much I've changed as a person. I started by just basically recording my thoughts that day- college, snow day, etc. I've gotten to the point where I occasionally write something insightful. I'm a better writer than I was then, it's a slow but consistent process. I just still feel like there's something missing.
I was in creative writing class 2 weeks ago. Mr. Hamm assigned a poem. I immediately groan to myself and wait for the prompt. Write a poem about how you've progressed as a writer, of poetry in particular. I don't even like poetry, I never could write it. I love listening to Brian, Alex, and Brandon read their amazingly fluid, beautiful lines of poetry. But me? I can't do it. I always say, "Oh well I'd much rather write prose than I would poetry...". But what is the last piece of prose I've written? It's been about a month and a half. I haven't written anything in 50 days, besides a few clinical essays. As soon as I have this realization, my mind breaks through the chains I've subdued it in. There's so much I have to say, so much I've left to decay inside of me. I want, no I need to write something. And what do I decide to write with this bottled up inspiration? A poem of self-loathing. 25 lines of depressing dictum. No really, I'm not kidding. It's about how I wish I could write poetry better....I refuse to even re-read it to myself again.
After bottling up that discouraging writing experience, I have another realization, 2 weeks later, this morning...
The paper (or in this situation, the blog) is a fine place to vent on, process your internal struggles, and evaluate who you are as a person (which I do so often). But I think it's unhealthy to use the blog solely for these purposes. Besides the two pieces I posted back in October (the personal narrative and "Hold the Cream"), all I've written are bleak invitations into my mind at times of distress.
I want to change this. I want to stop trying to find myself all the time, and write for someone else. I want to stop being afraid to let myself show my true self, instead of covering it with a pity-craving rant. I know I have it in me, I've seen on paper before. I need to stop being so self-conscious and remember that my writing is my own, and its destined to be bad at first. It's a learning experience.
While I'm at, I want to be a better Christian, a better friend, and just a better person in general. Not to say I'm a bad person, I just have room to improve, just as I do in my writing.
So I guess that it. I guess you could consider this an early new year's resolution...
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