It's like a hole, but bigger

Odd really, isn't it.
I'm not quite sure what to phrase this or how to call it.
Explaining has never been my thing, especially in this department.
Don't you remember?
"The abstractness could work if it was a bit more understandable."
Isn't that a contradiction? I mean, I'm not trying to be rude, but I just call things for what they are.
Like me being normal.
That's called an oxymoron. (It means that it just doesn't fit well with itself. Like normal behavior and thoughts don't fit well with me.)
How did I get here?

Sometimes I think a typewriter and a cup of tea would fit in a bit better. Other times I picture an ink-filled pen and a journal of magnificent proportions. But in the end it's always girl on computer, typing her thoughts into a square of plastic.

I wonder if I will ever accomplish this. I'm terrified to try. In fact, I would much rather not, but not trying is what finally pushed my over the edge into trying again. I guess I finally decided that I would rather try and fail than pretend that it never belonged to me at all.

The type looks so gorgeous from here, and I can see the proud expression on your face when you read it for the first time.

The heart-wrenching part is that you'll never read it, and I'll never try.

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watching while you sleep

Print and Electronic Media Major.

It sounds a little bit weird, but then you start looking into it and it just sounds amazing.

I'm so completely excited, and that's a little bit odd because I haven't been this excited about school in a long time.




Communications Major.
More to come.
: )

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sympathy's better than having to tell you the truth

Lost causes.

"I just need to be sure. I need to know that this is real, and strong, and forever."

I think I'm changing my major. I'm going back to writing and letting the idea of living with the tribes go free.
This brings up a few things:
-Do I have what it takes to make it as a writer?
-In ten years will I sit and think about what I cheated myself out of by giving up?
-Is this really okay?

I feel very tired and very alive all at the same time.
I feel like life holds endless opportunites and I just have to decide which ones I want.

Cheap, cheap, cheap.
That's everything I'm afraid of.

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drrrrrrrrrrum rolllllllll

"Welcome back..."

"Good to be here. Ready for another adventure?"

"Hit us with your best shot, baby."

It was time. I can only contain the passion in my fingertips for so long. There are things about yourself, pieces of your soul that it is impossible to kill, no matter how long or how hard you try. I think God was a mastermind when He designed us this way.

I feel like I've aged seventy years since I was here last, and I feel like the world is so much larger and so much smaller all at once. I feel seasoned, like my soul is well-worn. It seems to me that life is a lot more rugged on some people than others.

How ironic that this should begin all over again in the last place I thought it would - "Home", if you'd like to phrase it that way. Oh, who knows. Maybe I'm just trying to make something out of nothing. Maybe all of those mountains I've climbed were really just molehills (is there such a thing?).

"Cut yourself some slack, kid. This life ain't long enough to drag it around."

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