I remember the last time I wrote in an online blog -- my Xanga account. It was that attempt in high school to be cool and trendy. At the time, blogging seemed like a good step in that direction, though I'm pretty sure my thoughts and ramblings were on the consistency of the food in the school cafeteria or my attempts to steal an extra chicken finger from the lunch lady. Pretty deep stuff, I know...
After all my English classes throughout college, all my lessons on writing and the importance of it, all my lectures from Dr. Cotton on the ways in which writing allows one to understand one's self: I'm just now getting it. I think it's because I need it. At a time in my life where nothing is consistent. Friends are scarcer. Job hunting, and I mean "grown up" job hunting, carries with it this weight disguised as responsibility. It's funny how I used to dream of the day I was on my own and responsible for me, myself, and I, but suddenly I'm dying to be that little blonde girl whose daily challenges included finding the biggest box turtle possible and making her bed.
Oh what I wouldn't give to be that girl again on some days.
At times a familiar scent or action takes me back to those moments just for a second and I linger on it in order to forget the importance of my life's decisions in the present. Half of myself is ready for the newness, while the other half cowers in the corner at the slightest movement towards change.
So for now I'll ramble on in my writing. Hoping two things: I'll make sense of all my mess. And maybe my writing will improve.
Goodnight Auburndale. It's 1:11 and I'm wanting that wish.