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john coltrane - naima |
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I've been telling myself to write in here night after night for a number of nights now. I never did. Some sort of fear lingered, unplaceable. I'm afraid of my ability to articulate any sort of meaning in the life I'm living right now. I know the meaning is there, because I see it every day, beautiful, meaningful things that I see and feel everyday and never tell anyone about anymore. I keep them in my head, and smile about them as I stare outside, ignoring a book.
My current situation: Living at home. For most of the year it's an uncomfortably different situation than the one I've grown up with, in that I'm living alone with my mom, no sibling around. Dennis is at UCSC, Carly at UCSB, and Joanna at ASU. It's an odd dynamic, with my independence making my relationship with my partly emptying nesting mom limited mostly to greetings and reminders. I don't think about this much though, to be honest. I need to.
I'm taking Winter class at El Camino, community college deluxe. Taking the Double-H, History and Health. Two hours each, every day. Not fun. Not very much fun biking there and back, either.
Speaking of which, I have been fulfilling my resolution since the first. Dieting, biking to school every day. I'm in pretty awful shape, so the eight miles each day feels overly exhausting sometimes. But I've been delighting in the recent discovery that I feel mildly high about ten minutes after exercise, the endorphins stemming from all the exertion creating a warm, exuberant glow all around my body.
Taking classes without friends creates an odd separation within a typical day. From the time I wake up until around four or five, I typically utter less than one full page of words. In this time, I'm essentially living in my head, only speaking when asking questions in class or having friendly, small-talk conversations with classmates whose names I never learn. When the sun goes down, I seek conversation and warmth, so I hang out with friends as soon and as often as possible. And when I do, I often find words flowing out of my mouth, taking the thoughts that have been sitting lonely and bored in my head and giving them some air.
But even more than that, it seems, I don't say anything.
Sorry, this is rambling. After studying for an hour and a half or so for my midterm tomorrow, I eased myself outside my window (ground floor, no worries) and smoked two bowls with the bong I just bought last night. It's quite a beauty, and hits like a beast. I found myself staring at the backyard and watching the foliage sit still, cracks and thumps calling out weakly. Some part of getting high on the side of my house is always left for profundity, but most of it is just me trying to hack out smoke without alerting my mom or neighbors. Such is life.
Anyhow, that's why I'm writing so much.
I have more to elaborate but I should save that for another update. That will give me some motivation to write in here more. Because I'm an English major and have to decide whether to go the Literature or Creative Writing route, I need to flex my mind through introspection a little more and remind myself how to put words down with sincerity, minus the topic sentences and theses.
Anywho...I love you all. More for later!
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skemogorilla's journal